Failure to Communicate
by Tipper
Summary: The Team, including Weir, get trapped in the middle of a civil war on another world. In the beginning, McKay's badly hurt, Sheppard's running out of options, and the clock is ticking for the others sentenced to be hanged in the morning. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: **FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

Author: **TIPPER**

Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s). Thank you to the amazing writers, producers, actors, crew and directors who bring it to life.

Characters: Everyone—even Weir's off-world in this one! But Sheppard and McKay are the center.

A/N: There's been a lot of discussions that both Sheppard and McKay seemed changed at the beginning of Season 2, something I totally agree with. Sheppard is more distant; McKay more whiny and more apathetic about his friends. But, they seem to be growing again. Anyway, this story is meant to take place after Runner but before Condemned, and is my way of sorting through my disgruntlement with that.

A/N2: It's also a clear homage to one of my favorite movies, The Great Escape. If you haven't figured out that I like Steve McQueen and fast cars...well, you will...

Acknowledgements: NT, of course, for reading and critiquing; Biscuit for giving me the idea after I griped about the annoying lack of concern the characters seemed to have for each other in Runner; and all my best friends in general, who put up with me on a daily basis (Lord knows why). And Anna Stewart, because she bugs me routinely! Oh, and a young Robert Vaughn, for being my and NT's Doctor Travis.

————————————————————

**CHAPTER ONE: ACCEPTABLE LOSSES**

Sheppard didn't know how long they'd been running, slogging through the forest on this god forsaken planet, trying to listen and watch for their pursuers while keeping in a straight line. All he knew is that they needed to get to some kind of shelter, however transient.

Of course, he had no real idea where they were—he just hoped they were moving in the general direction of the Gate. This planet's sun, now very low in the sky, was impossible to pinpoint because of the dense forest, the rich yellow slants of light deepening the shadows as night fell. It probably wouldn't have helped him much even if he could see it—the old adage of "rises in the east, sets in the west" was not exactly applicable on other planets.

He was relying more on sight than sound now to warn him of pursuers, as the thick blanket of dead leaves beneath their feet made the latter near impossible. To Sheppard's ears, he and McKay were making as much noise as a herd of buffalo. He just hoped the pursuers would sound even louder. Anyone who thought you could walk "silently" through a deciduous tree forest in Autumn had never actually tried to do it.

Grunting, he shifted McKay further up on his shoulder, hoping the wounded man would continue to keep his feet under him. Rodney had one arm around Sheppard's shoulders, while the other was pressed tightly against his stomach where a hastily tied bandage was covering a nasty gash. Sheppard tightened his arm around the scientist's back and waist, holding the scientist up as they moved side by side, stepping in time. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left...

_Just keep moving, Rodney._

Thing was, the wicked graze across Rodney's stomach was not Sheppard's real worry. The wound, while ugly and likely to get infected if untreated, was not bleeding anymore. No, it was not the problem. The problem was the seemingly unstoppable blood stain saturating the man's left pant leg from thigh to ankle.

McKay had been shot through the leg as they were escaping.

Despite the tight bandage Sheppard had applied as soon as they had a moment to catch their breath, the bleeding didn't seem to have stopped. He was fairly certain—by the fact that McKay was still alive and moving—that the bullet hadn't hit an artery, but the dark blood stain on the navy pants leg continued to grow with a stubbornness that was as frustrating as the man himself.

He could feel that Rodney was slowing, leaning more of his weight on Sheppard with each step.

And Sheppard knew, if McKay faltered, they'd be screwed. He couldn't carry McKay over his shoulder in a fireman's carry with the stomach wound, and he wasn't about to piggy back the man because that would take away his ability to keep an arm free to hold the P90. No, McKay had to keep running. Sheppard supported as much of the scientist's weight as he could...but he could feel the shorter man struggling to keep up.

Amazingly, Rodney hadn't said a word almost the entire flight. Which, while useful, was not encouraging for the man's state of health. It was unnatural.

"We..." Rodney's voice when he finally broke his silence was weak, tired, and Sheppard slowed a little in order to hear him better over the crackling of dead leaves.

Rodney sucked in a breath. "We have to stop," he said in one long exhale. "I can't...my leg..." And suddenly, Rodney stumbled, nearly bringing them both down in an ungainly heap. Only the colonel's quick reflexes kept him mostly upright, partially kneeling, while McKay sagged in his arms, the scientist not even trying to stop himself from puddling to the ground. "God, it hurts," McKay moaned softly.

Sheppard let him go, gently setting McKay down on his side, feeling his friend shaking from the cooling night air and blood loss. Quickly, the colonel checked the bandages, grimacing at the blood. McKay's right hand, which the man had been pressing against the bandage on his stomach, was stained red. Still, the graze, more like a deep scratch, appeared to be scabbing. It looked nasty, but wasn't life threatening...yet. As for his leg...

Hell. The entire bandage was soaked through. It was like trying to stop a car skidding on ice with a grain of sand. Damn it...he was losing too much blood...

Sheppard grabbed for another field dressing from his vest, trying not to think about the fact that he only had one more after this. Ripping McKay's pant leg further to expose the messy wound, he placed the new bandage over the old one. Rodney watched through half-lidded eyes, emitting a small cry of pain as John pressed down almost viciously hard. Sheppard ignored him, maintaining the pressure. McKay gritted his teeth and rolled his head back, closing his eyes. Sheppard could feel him trembling.

"Stay awake, McKay," the colonel ordered, his tone icy. "Don't you dare pass out on me, understand?"

McKay grunted. "No undue pressure, eh?" he quoted weakly, attempting a weak chuckle at the poor joke. He turned his eyes to Sheppard again, but if he hoped to get the other man to smile or even smirk, he was disappointed. The colonel was focused only on keeping pressure on the wound. McKay's smile faded.

They passed a couple of minutes in silence, until McKay cleared his throat again.

"Colonel?" he whispered. Sheppard glanced up from his work, grimacing a little when he saw the strangely guilty looking expression on McKay's face. "I'm...I'm sorry..."

"For what?" Sheppard snapped angrily. The scientist winced at the harsh tone.

"For...," McKay closed his eyes, "I don't know. For everything."

Sheppard snorted and turned his head away without answering, his mind wondering what the hell McKay thought he was apologizing for. For faltering just now? For what happened back in Garillion? For not being able to stop the life from leaking out of him?

For forcing Sheppard to make a decision soon that he didn't want to make?

"Just don't talk, McKay," he grumbled. He didn't want to hear it. He saw the scientist's lips press themselves into a thin line in response, but no more words came from the other man.

Eventually, Sheppard stopped pressing down and started to wrap the bandage's ties around the thigh, not even bothering to see if he had managed to stop the bleeding. McKay's breathing evened out a little as the pressure on his leg eased. Then, suddenly, Sheppard wrenched the bandage tight, and McKay's whole body flinched, the scientist gasping in pain, his blue eyes popping open to stare at Sheppard as if he'd been betrayed.

"It needs to be tight," the colonel explained, not quite meeting those eyes and tying the last tie with a harsh twist.

McKay didn't answer—he was obviously too busy trying to breathe through the pain. He just closed his eyes tightly again and sucked in deep lungfuls of air through gritted teeth, letting his sweating forehead rest on the cold, wet earth. Sheppard knew the man's leg had to be on fire right now.

But they couldn't stay still any longer.

"We have to get going. You ready?" he asked, almost casually.

"Are you kidding?" McKay snapped back furiously, head whipping up to glare at the other man. "Do I look ready? I can't even...I can't..." Then, as suddenly as it had come, the anger faded, as if he were too tired to maintain it. "No, no, I'm not," he said, his tone softer. He lowered his head again, and his voice fell to an almost whisper. "Can't we just stay here," McKay took another breath, "for a moment? Please?"

"McKay, we have no cover here. If they're still chasing—"

"I just need a moment. Please."

Sheppard stared at him, then sighed, and stood up to look around. He was pretty sure they'd lost the men chasing them, but he wasn't about to bet their lives on it.

As he scanned for movement among the trees, he noted for the first time that the ground at their feet was not level. Frowning, he tried to remember the terrain that he'd casually viewed from one of the high windows in the Governor's citadel in Garillion, because they were clearly no longer on flat terrain—they were on the side of a mountain.

The Gate was at the far end of a long green valley, with Garillion at the other end, the fortressed city protecting the only pass leading out of the valley. The valley was ringed on all sides by lush, tree covered mountains with granite tops, the monoliths blending together like the steeps sides of an oval shaped bowl. They were obviously walking on the edge of one of them.

It had taken a full day to get to the city from the Gate, and that was with Doctors McKay, Weir and Travis riding in a wagon and he, Ronon and Teyla on horseback (or, at least, on animals bearing a strong resemblance to horses, though the ram-like horns on their heads were a bit odd). The rutted road leading to the main city wound through several small settlements along the valley floor, following a meandering river—so presumably, going in a straight line would take less time, but Sheppard wasn't sure how much...nor if he was even going in a straight line. The foliage was just too thick for him to get any bearings.

McKay had commented on their initial travel through the valley that the landscape reminded him of rural New England, where the scientist had picked up several of his more advanced degrees. Sheppard had shut McKay down when the man started to launch into a comparison of his time at Harvard versus his time at MIT and Northeastern, his obvious intention trying to goad Travis, who had gotten both his PhD and his JD from Yale. The quiet Dr. Travis had thanked Sheppard with a grateful look, but Sheppard didn't acknowledge it. Fact was, the colonel hadn't really intended it. Shutting up McKay had just become his habit lately. And McKay seemed to accept it—giving in more quickly these days than he had before...before the Siege.

The colonel breathed tightly through clenched teeth, shoving thoughts of that time from his mind. He didn't have time for it now.

Sheppard looked down, saw McKay had his eyes closed, a pained grimace on his face.

Sensing the scrutiny, Rodney sighed and opened his eyes again, turning them to look up at the colonel, squinting a little in the low light.

"We have to keep moving," Sheppard told him, unintentionally coldly. The tone was something else he'd found himself using with McKay lately, even when he didn't mean it. In fact, he'd started using the tone with most everyone, though McKay seemed to get the brunt. "You need to keep moving. Now."

"To where?" McKay asked, finally giving in and pushing himself up a little on shaking arms, allowing a hint of snappiness to emerge again. It seemed to give him extra energy. "Where exactly are you taking me? Because it doesn't feel like we're heading to the Gate. I mean, I know your sense of direction isn't exactly—"

"McKay," Sheppard almost sighed the name, letting his weariness show.

Rodney frowned at the interruption, but it fell away when he finally got a good look at Sheppard's flat expression.

"We're not heading to the Gate," the scientist whispered, the whites of his eyes showing, "are we?"

Sheppard squatted down next to the other man so McKay could see his face better. McKay sucked in a quick breath, and his eyes squinted, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Sheppard pretended not to notice.

"I have to get you someplace safe," the colonel explained, "someplace where I can leave you for awhile."

McKay didn't react to that for a moment, then his eyes started to widen and he blinked rapidly, his mouth opening. Finally, he whispered, "Leave me? You can't...you can't take me back to Atlantis? But...my leg...I—"

"Teyla, Weir, Travis and Ronon are still back there. I have to get them out of there."

"Yes, but," McKay searched the ground for answers, his shaking increasing, "shouldn't we...We need to tell Atlantis...mount a proper rescue. And I'm...bleeding...a lot..."

"No time. Gate's too far away on foot, not to mention heavily guarded. Plus, I don't know how much time our people have...for all I know, this place is a firing squad at dawn sort of world. Not to mention I saw Ronon take a pretty hard hit in order to give me the time to get you out of there—he could be in worse shape than you."

"Worse shape...," McKay repeated, eyes lifting to find Sheppard's again, but this time without success. Instead, Sheppard had stood up, making a show of watching the woods again...and refusing to look down. Fact was, the colonel did not want to see the realization in McKay's eyes, the understanding of what Sheppard was telling him.

McKay was often blind, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the leg wound, aggravated by running on it these last few hours, was bad. More than bad. He had lost a lot of blood. Not taking him back to Atlantis as soon as possible was, in all likelihood, a death sentence.

But Sheppard had to weigh four lives against one. Four people were in the Citadel, probably alive, but in danger. If he rescued them now, the greater the probability of getting them out alive and getting them home. But if he stayed focused on just this one person with him...fact was, McKay would not survive getting all the way to the Gate on foot. Not like this. He either chose McKay, continued to drag a man through woods until he died from blood loss in a pointless attempt to get him home, or he went back for the rest of his team, Travis and Weir...

And hoped McKay hung on long enough for him to come back for him.

Mathematically, the decision was obvious. The odds stacked. His mission plain.

The choice clear.

He had to leave McKay.

Even if that meant the man died alone.

And this time, he wouldn't fight it. He was done fighting. Done trying to save everyone, only to have the reverse happen.

It was a lesson he had been trying to learn since Dex and Mitch went down in Afghanistan, but didn't really get until he saw Ford inside that jumper, leaving Atlantis behind. It was why he'd done his damnedest to spend less time with McKay over the last two months, to cut him off and keep his distance.

People died, that was the fact of it. You have to see them all equally, treat them with the same level of concern, and never too much, or else it gets in the way of making the decisions that needed to be made. Colonels knew the meaning of acceptable losses, and Sheppard was a lieutenant colonel now.

Oh, yes. He'd learned his lesson.

You can't care too much when you're in command.

He looked at Rodney, who was now leaning his head again on the ground and closing his eyes.

And you can't have best friends.

————————————————————

TBC – I start slow, I know...trust me...


	2. Chapter 2

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWO: LOWERED EXPECTATIONS**

————————————————————

Rodney lowered his eyes when Sheppard refused to look at him, the colonel once more searching the forest for danger. Yeah...whatever. McKay knew they were out of danger, or else the colonel wouldn't have let them stop for this long. Sheppard was just avoiding looking at him—it was what the man did when he was uncomfortable about something. Eventually, the scientist sighed, closed his eyes again and once more rested his head on the cool ground.

"I see," he mumbled. And he did. Sheppard had made a choice—he'd chosen the others over him. It was the obvious decision—McKay knew that. But still, a very real part of Rodney was panicking right now, even as he tried to crush the sensation, to swallow it down and not let the other man see, to not let _himself_ see. He wanted Sheppard to do what he could to rescue the others, but that fact didn't stop the terror from washing over him in drowning waves, swallowing him up and dragging him down. All that the incredibly frightened part of him knew was one thing:

_Sheppard was going to leave him_.

Sheppard sighed, sounding distant, as if he'd walked farther away. "Travis, Weir and Teyla, if they're still alive, might be able to talk to them, but I saw Ronon go down, and, knowing him, it had to have been something impressive to stop him in his tracks like that."

"Probably," McKay muttered, not lifting his head. He didn't need to be reminded that, if he had just been paying more attention when they first ran, he wouldn't have tripped on that basket and run right into the metalled edge of a cart, cutting his stomach. It had forced Sheppard to help him, and Ronon to hang back to protect them, resulting in the large man being overwhelmed by the rebels attacking the Citadel in Garillion. Sheppard had made a move to go back and help him, but then McKay had gotten hit in the leg by a bullet...

"They're still in danger, McKay."

"Yes," Rodney hissed, still not looking up. "I get that. Do what you have to." He felt increasingly sick, his stomach lurching in response to the barrage of the ocean waves. Terror and pain were not a nice combination.

Sheppard was going to leave him.

He was going to die alone.

For some reason, Sheppard either didn't hear him, or was ignoring him, for he continued to argue.

"Come on, McKay. You know I'm right. I don't know what they'll do with them—I can't leave them there. As soon as I think I can leave you..." Sheppard trailed off, looking again around at the woods. He'd heard something, but it could have just been the wind rattling the trees.

"I said I get it," McKay hissed, his trademark anger bubbling to the surface, finally banishing some of the sickness. As it always did, it gave him extra energy, allowing him to finally open his eyes and look up. "What are you, deaf? You're going to get the others. Great. So go. Leave. I'll be fine. I'll just lie here and d—"

"Shhh!" Sheppard hushed, his senses clearly on full alert as he did a slow 360, scanning the woods. McKay shut his mouth immediately, knowing that tone well. It was a real command. His blue eyes tracked the colonel as the other man scouted, and his right hand rested on the 9MM still holstered on his thigh.

Sheppard stopped, peering more acutely in one particular direction. After a moment, he pulled out the binoculars from his vest and took a more careful look.

"There's a campfire over there," he told McKay. The scientist turned his head to peer in that direction. Sheppard was right, there was something flickering inside the trees.

"Come on." The colonel reached down and pulled McKay up, ignoring the man's protesting whimper.

"But," McKay gasped as the word spun for a moment before he got his feet under him again, "it could be anyone. Soldiers, guerillas, bad guys..."

"Stop," Sheppard hissed, as he half dragged, half pushed McKay in the direction of the firelight. "Not now."

"But—"

"Damn it!" Sheppard's grip tightened almost viciously around his waist. "I said shut up," the colonel growled in his ear. "As you so happily like to make fun of me for, we're lost. And you need water. We need help. So, for once in your damn life, be quiet."

McKay lowered his head a little, eyes glossing over, and not from pain. He did what he could to keep up with Sheppard...and he shut up.

What did it matter, anyway?

————————————————————

About ten feet from the camp, for it was definitely a camp, Sheppard leaned McKay against a tree, motioning for him to stay still. The scientist just stared at him, a strangely listless look on his face. Sheppard held up a hand, mouthing the words: "Don't move." McKay just gave him a dark look, and mouthed back, "No shit."

Sheppard matched the dark look with one of his own, then straightened up. Steeling himself, he walked towards the camp and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hello the camp!" he called.

A slight rustle answered him, but no voice. Sheppard took a few more steps forward, able to see more of the camp now. He could discern a long covered wagon of sorts, the coverlet brightly painted, and what looked like writing on the side. It almost looked like an old-fashioned pioneer's wagon, except for the four massive rubber tires. They looked more like they belonged on a tractor trailer than this wooden contraption. Random objects hung from the edges, including pots and pans, a scrub brush, what looked like a couple coils of rope, and other utensils. Brightly colored flags hung from edges not covered by the main covering, further hiding the rickety nature of the massive caravan. It was being pulled by a docile looking animal that reminded him of a huge Clydesdale with a ram's head, the massive horns curling around and down a neck as thick as a rhino's. It looked damned powerful.

"Hello?" he called again, moving forward some more, hands resting on his P90. The ram-headed rhino-horse turned to look at him, then returned its attention to the leaves it was munching on. "Anyone there?"

"Um, Colonel?" McKay called from behind him.

Sheppard waved a hand behind him to shush the man, and walked right up to the edge of the camp, holding the P90 ready. A fire was happily crackling away in a stone ringed pit, over which someone had hung a pot. Something very garlicky smelling bubbled inside. Looking up, he read the words on the wagon's side, frowning a little at the painting of a happy smiling man holding up a bottle of something green.

"Colonel? You should come back here." McKay's tone was more insistent this time.

"There's no one here," Sheppard said, sighing and turning. "And didn't I tell you to be quiet?" He stopped, eyebrows furrowing, "McKay?".

McKay had somehow gotten to his feet on his own and was now standing only a few feet behind him, leaning heavily on his good leg, watching him with a disgruntled expression. One arm was wrapped across his stomach, the other hovering over the empty holster strapped to his thigh, the hand trembling something fierce. Hell, all of McKay was trembling, the firelight showing Sheppard for the first time just how pale the scientist was.

Wait a minute..._Empty_ holster?

Sheppard frowned, moving towards him. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be walking. What the hell were you..."

And then he saw the rifle pressed against the back of McKay's head.

————————————————————

TBC...soft steps...


	3. Chapter 3

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER THREE: THE TRADER**

———————————————————————

Sheppard watched as a fairly short man came around the side of the scientist, never lowering the bead of the rifle pointed up at McKay's skull. Most of the stranger was in shadow, but Sheppard could make out a long, dark duster over a lighter colored suit and a black hat like a 1920's mobster's hat. McKay's 9MM was stuffed in the front of the stranger's pants. Surprisingly, McKay seemed to take his hostage taking in stride, annoyance the only expression on his face as the cold barrel bumped his head a few times.

"Watch it," the scientist grumbled when the metal bumped him on the temple hard enough to force him to pull his head away. The man finally stopped moving then. Sheppard forced a smile, focusing on the glittering eyes hidden inside the dark recess created by the hat brim.

"Now, now, there's no need for that," the colonel said, laying on the charm and lifting his left hand up placatingly even if his right was still wrapped around the trigger on the P90. "We're not here to rob you or anything."

"This rifle is cocked and has a hair trigger, stranger," the man informed him, and to Sheppard's untrained ear, he sounded almost as if he had an English accent of some kind. "Any sudden movement will probably set it off, so I wouldn't try to shoot me right now, no matter how fast you think you are."

"Yes, well," Sheppard tried to take a step forward, "Perhaps then you should—"

"Put your weapon down," the stranger ordered. "I know a machine gun when I see one. Put it down. The handgun too. And if you have a knife, like this one did, toss that as well."

Sheppard grimaced, but, despite the man's obvious stealth, he didn't really seem that dangerous to the colonel. He glanced at McKay, seeing the sheen on sweat on the scientist's face, recognizing that the man was not likely to stay upright on his own for much longer. McKay wasn't even looking at him any more—the scientist seemed fixated on the flickering fire, like a drug addict on the lights at a rave.

McKay's unnatural stillness made the decision for him. Sheppard's right hand opened, releasing the P90, and both hands came up.

"Okay," he agreed, moving slowly to unclip the P90 from his vest. He let it fall, and then, equally slowly, he pulled the 9MM from his hip and dropped that to the ground as well. Finally, he pulled the knife and let it drop.

The man nodded, dropped his rifle to behind McKay's back, and nudged the scientist forward with it.

McKay nearly fell when he took a step on his bad leg, but he somehow made it into the circle of the campfire. He glanced balefully at Sheppard as he reached him, then sort of collapsed to the ground next to him, rolling over into a sort of sitting position.

"Sorry," he said weakly, his voice breaking on the word. Though whether he was apologizing to the colonel for being caught, or to the stranger for falling, Sheppard wasn't sure. It seemed to be a pattern with them tonight.

"You're hurt," the stranger noticed, as if it hadn't been obvious before from McKay's stagger.The shadows outside the camp must have hidden the extent of the damage, now that it was night.

"How observant of you," Rodney replied wryly, shifting again to try and alleviate the pain.

The stranger walked the rest of the way into the firelight, lifting his head and allowing Sheppard to see his face clearly for the first time under the brim of the hat. It was not a young man—he was, perhaps, forty five or so, with pale hair and a neatly trimmed vandyke beard and moustache. His eyes were almost black because of the light level, but the irises were pale...probably blue, though it was hard to tell. His hair appeared fairly neatly groomed under the hat, not long, but not short, and a few telltale white streaks made it seem even lighter. As for height, he probably wasn't an inch over 5 foot 7. A pair of shaggy eyebrows lifted, and the stranger pointed his rifle at Rodney before aiming it at Sheppard.

"He needs a doctor. He won't last long with that wound on his leg. Lost a lot of blood."

"Man's a psychic," McKay muttered, still not quite focused on what was in front of him.

"Rodney," Sheppard warned quietly, "be nice."

A snort came from the scientist, but that was about it.

"Who are you?" the stranger asked, still not lowering his rifle, which he now trained on John.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, and he's Doctor Rodney McKay. Who are you?"

"Doctor, eh?" the stranger smiled, looking again at Rodney. "What kind?"

"The bleeding kind," McKay mumbled.

"He's a scientist," Sheppard answered. "And who are you?"

The stranger looked at him again, tilted his head, and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Sheppard nodded, "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"

"I'm the one with the gun."

"Right," Sheppard smiled, "Good point."

"What are you doing here?" the stranger repeated.

"We had a bit of trouble back in Garillion. Got caught in the cross-fire when some rebels attacked the Governor's citadel. I'm trying to find a place where I can properly tend to his wounds, someplace safe I can hole him up for the night."

"Rebels?"

"That's what it looked like," Sheppard shrugged. "So...we answered your questions..." He trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

The stranger stared at him a moment longer, his eyes clearly measuring him. Finally, something in the colonel's face must have helped him make a decision as, screwing his face up a little, he sighed and lowered the rifle.

"The name's Connam. Eric Connam. I'm a merchant trader."

Sheppard arched an eyebrow at the familiar sounding name, "Eric? Really?"

Connam's shaggy blond eyebrows furrowed, nearly forming a line. "Yes. Why, is that odd?"

"No, no," Sheppard shook his head, "It's just...Eric's a fairly common name where we come from."

"It's a fairly common name among many worlds," Connam replied. He still looked puzzled, and he tilted his head again as he took in their clothing. "Actually," he glanced up at Sheppard again, "it's you who are the odd ones. I've never seen your style of dress, nor do I recognize your names." He frowned. "Where exactly are you from?"

Sheppard's smile reappeared, "Is that important?"

Connam arched an eyebrow, then shook his head. "No, I suppose it's not." He looked again at McKay, then at the dressings. He looked back at Sheppard, "I have some bandages and medicines in the back of my wagon. I'll let you have them," the eyes narrowed, "for a price."

Sheppard sucked in a quick breath, "I'm afraid we haven't any money."

"No," Connam looked down at the weapons at Sheppard's feet, "but you have other things."

The colonel's eyes narrowed a fraction. "What do you suggest?"

"One of them knives ought to cover it."

This time it was Sheppard who raised an eyebrow. "You mean they're not yours now?"

Connam snorted, "I am not a thief, Colonel. I'm a trader. Bandages and medicine for one of your knives. What say you?"

Sheppard stared at him for a moment, then smiled crookedly, "Throw in some of that food, water and a little information, and I'll let you have both knives."

Connam tilted his head again, then nodded, "Your word you will not try to take the knives back? Or anything else of mine?"

"Yes."

"Done."

———————————————————————

TBC...now didn't that seem easy...


	4. Chapter 4

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER FOUR: MIDNIGHT NEGOTIATIONS**

———————————————————————

Fifteen minutes later, Sheppard was kneeling next to where McKay was now sleeping on one side of the camp, his legs elevated—the scientist had finally, mercifully passed out. Sheppard laid a hand on the man's head, telling himself that he was doing it just to check on McKay's temperature, even if the hand lingered for longer than was necessary.

On the other side of the camp, Connam ladled some soup into a bowl and watched the ministrations with a curious eye, wondering a little at the underlying tension he sensed in both men. He honestly couldn't tell if they were friends...or enemies.

Sheppard stood, picking up the green bottle Connam had given him from where he'd placed it next to McKay's leg, and tucked it inside McKay's pack with the newly acquired bandages. The "medicine" Connam carried seemed to be no more than a strong alcohol, despite the other man's promises of its abilities. Sheppard had done what he could to clean McKay's wounds with it, but while staving off infection was important, he knew McKay had lost a lot of blood, making it all seem rather pointless. At least the bleeding had stopped now that they weren't moving any more, but soon enough, he'd have to get McKay walking again and...

Like he said, pointless.

For now, he'd rebound the wounds as best he could, using the fresh bandages Connam supplied, but part of him couldn't help thinking he was only delaying the inevitable.

Wiping his hands off on his uniform, the colonel turned around to find Connam standing a few feet away, a bowl of soup in his hands. The trader held it out.

"Your food, colonel? You're going to need it, I think."

Sheppard stared at it a moment, then nodded a quick thanks. He took it and sat himself down cross-legged next to McKay, trying to eat it quickly. It was thick and filled with vegetables—tasted like heaven to the starving colonel. After he had downed about half of it, he looked up to find Connam holding out a tin cup to him. Sheppard took it, and, sniffing the contents, was pleased to find it was just water. Connam smiled genteelly at him and walked over to ladle out a bowl of the soup for himself.

"So," Sheppard said, watching the other man settle down himself to eat, "you're a trader? What, between the different towns?"

"The towns? What, here? Ah, no, not exactly." Connam smiled, shifting a little on the log he'd picked to sit on and peering at the soup in his bowl as if looking for something, "I trade among the different worlds. This is just one of 'em."

Sheppard stopped mid swallow, surprised by the information, then finished quickly. "Really? How many worlds do you trade on?"

"I don't know. Twenty? Thirty?" Connam shrugged, blowing on his soup to cool it.

"Then this," Sheppard looked around at the now black forest, "is not your home."

"Ah, no. Not even close. Pretty though, especially during this planet's Autumn."

"Oh, so you know it well?"

"Well enough. Been coming here since I was a lad, when my mum and dad were in the business. Now it's just me and Dodge there," he indicated the massive horned draft horse, who was feasting on a young tree now.

"In that case, do you know any, uh," Sheppard paused, pursing his lips, then plunged on, "safe places to stay nearby? Where someone might be willing to help—"

"No. There's nothing nearby, not up here."

"Oh," Sheppard said, frowning a little, glancing again at McKay. Connam watched him, frowning slightly.

"So," the trader took another sup of his soup, "why were you in Garillion?"

"Hunh," Sheppard grimaced, looking back at Connam. He took another spoonful of soup before answering, noting it was almost gone now. "We came to this world to work out a trade agreement with the Governor—we only came through the gate yesterday."

"What kind of trade agreement?"

"We were to get food and supplies from the Governor in return for medicines, defense weapons to be used against the Wraith, that sort of thing."

"Weapons?"

"For defense. Things to gain anyone fleeing a Wraith dart a little extra time to do so." He tilted the bowl to catch the last few drops of the soup onto his spoon.

"Like what?"

Sheppard hesitated and his eyes lifted, suddenly not liking the scrutinizing tone the trader was using. But what he saw on the man's face didn't appear mercenary—more curious. He shrugged, swallowed the last of the soup, then placed his now finished bowl on the ground with the spoon. Leaning forward, he wrapped his hands together and balanced his arms on his knees.

"Stun and flash weaponry. Bright lights, big noises, that sort of thing."

"Not guns or explosives," Connam stated.

Sheppard frowned, "No."

"Hmm," Connam waved a hand at him, "so what happened? How did he get hurt?"

Sheppard turned once more to McKay, watching the other man breathe as he spoke. "We were in the midst of finishing the agreement when everything went to hell. The Governor yelled something about rebels trying to take the city and...my companions and I decided the best course of action would be to get the hell out of there."

"A prudent course."

"Yeah, well, we ran into some...complications. We literally got caught in the crossfire, for one thing." Sheppard grimaced, the sound of the gunfire echoing in his ears again, along with Teyla's call that she, Elizabeth and Travis had been caught crackling over the radio in his ear, and McKay's swear as he fell and cut his stomach, then his cry of pain as he got shot, Ronan yelling at him to get McKay out of there...Swallowing, he drove the memories from his head and turned to face the trader again. "Fact is, Connam, four of my people are still back there. I need to get back there, to help them."

Connam's eyes narrowed, and he indicated McKay with his head, lowering his voice even though it wasn't necessary, "You taking him with you? Because, there's no way that on foot, he—"

"I know," Sheppard cut him off with a raised hand. "I need to find a safe place to hole him up while I go back for the others. Then we'll come back for him, and make a break for the gate. That's why I asked you that question before."

Connam's eyebrows lifted, and he looked at McKay, as if assessing, as Sheppard had done, McKay's likelihood for survival should he be left on his own.

Sheppard cleared his throat, "Speaking of which, I paid you for some information." He licked his lips when Connam turned his attention to him again, and plunged on. "I need to know where I am, exactly. How far from the gate; how far from the city. I also need to know if you know of any farms around here who might be able to sell me some horses, or other means of transportation."

Connam frowned at the word, "Horses?"

"Four legged beasts, like your rhino-horse there," Sheppard indicated the huge creature, "except faster. Taller."

"Rhino-horse?" Connam shook his head, turning to look at his animal, "I don't know that word. That there is called a dram, colonel, and, like I said, her name is Dodge. And, if I'm getting your meaning right, what you call horses are meeners."

"Yes," Sheppard nodded, remembering that's what the Governor had called them, "meeners."

Connam watched him a moment, then placed his own bowl on the ground.

The trader smiled at that, "Well, as you say, you paid for information. Here's your answers, to the best that I can give them. You are, as you may have guessed, about a half day's walk to the citadel. You are also about a day's walk to the Gate. In the morning I will show you the direction—"

"I can't wait until morning."

Connam frowned, "You can't traverse these woods in the dark, colonel. You'll get lost."

"I'll find a way. But, speaking of morning, how long until the sun rises?"

Connam frowned, but did not try to deny him again. "Depends on how you measure time, sir."

"By the clocks of the Ancestors."

Connam arched an eyebrow, then shrugged, and, digging into a pocket of his waistcoat, pulled out a pocket watch. He flipped it open, tilted his head and nodded. "In that case, about seven hours. Sun will rise around," he seemed to think for a moment, "six in the morning?"

Sheppard looked at his own watch, then glanced at McKay again. The scientist hadn't moved, but he was deathly pale. The orange, dancing firelight seemed to deepen the shadows under the closed lids, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead was not from the flames' heat.

_Damn it, McKay_.

"You do realize," Connam said, his voice softening again, "that he'll be lucky to survive long enough for you to return for him, not if you force him to move much farther with that leg wound." Connam stood then, moving closer in order to see McKay better from his side of the camp. "If you have good surgeons where you come from, which, based on your equipment, I assume you must, it'd be best to take him back to the gate now. He needs a transfusion. For a price, I'd be willing to take you to a place where you can get a cart..."

"I have to rescue the others," Sheppard replied softly, still watching McKay. Connam tilted his head, eyes trying to read to the colonel's angled profile in the low light as Sheppard continued to talk. "I don't know if they're dead or hurt or...There are four of my people back in that Citadel still in Garillion, and I have to get them out of there. I can't afford...," he paused, swallowing almost convulsively, "...I can't afford to wait."

"But," Connam frowned, "he..." he trailed off, not wanting to state the obvious. He frowned as the colonel reached out to touch the doctor's head lightly again, just resting his knuckles on the broad forehead, lightly brushing away a little of the hair stuck to it.

Finally, Sheppard sucked in a breath, steeled his emotions, and turned away from McKay to meet Connam's eyes, his hand falling back to his side. He stood up to face the trader, clasping his hands behind his back, an expressionless mask on his face. Connam had to admit, the transformation was impressive.

"Now, about the horses...?" Sheppard raised his eyebrows in question.

Connam grimaced and sighed heavily, "Meeners."

"Yeah," Sheppard nodded, "them. Where can I get some and what will their owners take in exchange?"

Connam watched him for a moment, then sat down again. A moment later, Sheppard followed suit, watching the other man curiously. Connam leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, rubbing his hands together.

"Colonel, look, before I tell you anything further, I should warn you," his eyes met Sheppard's straight on, "the Citadel was not attacked by rebels."

That got Sheppard's attention, "What?"

"The Governor...by whom I assume you mean Medved, yes?" He took Sheppard's single nod as a yes and continued, "Governor Medved is not the leader of the people on this world, Colonel. King Stewart is. Governor Medved is a small, petty man who has been looking for means to oust Stewart from power. The arms you were selling to Medved were undoubtedly meant to supply the means for him to attempt a coup."

Sheppard closed his eyes tightly, swearing softly under his breath. "Then the 'rebels' were..."

"The king's private guard, my guess, camouflaged to look like peasants. The Citadel and the rest of Garillion, if not the whole valley, is probably under martial law now—and I'm sure they're looking for you. The roads, the gate, everything will be heavily guarded. Arms dealers are not treated well here. If your people are lucky, they may be tried first, and, if any among them has a silver tongue, the sentencing may be commuted in favor of some sort of deal—perhaps selling the arms to the King instead. If, however, they are not afforded that trial, then they are either going to be hanged as criminal war profiteers, hanged as spies, or hanged for just being there." He shook his head, "In any event, you are correct in assuming they are in grave danger, if they are not already dead."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, "They hang people here?"

"Yes. And believe me, that's a better way to die than most. There are some planets where..." He stopped talking when he realized Sheppard was still squinting at him. "Er, never mind."

Sheppard looked away, then back again. "Do they have any," he waved his hand, "usual time that they perform hangings?"

"Sure. Mid-morning. By the Ancestor's clock, about 10:00."

Sheppard had lowered his head, staring down at the dead leaves on the ground. They were wet with the cooling air of night, and seemed to shimmer slightly, reflecting the fire. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and looked up again at Connam.

"As I said, about those horses...?"

"Do you have anything else you can trade?"

Sheppard tilted his head at the question, thinking it a strange non-sequitor. "What?"

"What else have you to trade?"

"What do you mean?"

Connam rolled his eyes, then pointed to Sheppard's clothes. "Your vest, and that of your friend, as well as his pack, appear to be filled with various items. What else have you got?"

"Why?" The colonel did not bother hiding his suspicious tone.

"Technology can always be traded. I may be able to help you out more than I have done. I can get you your meeners, for example. So," Connam's eyebrows lifted, "what have you got?"

Sheppard was physically tired and mentally running on fumes, but he was also feeling the sharp edge of desperation. He had one fr...man...with him who was dying, and four others who needed his help. So far, Connam seemed honest. He had a feeling the trader would sell his own grandmother for profit, but he was on a strange planet, lost, and his options seemed awfully limited...

He grimaced, "Well, I should start by saying but I won't give you our weapons..."

"The guns? Oh no, I don't want those. What good are they to me when they run out of ammunition? Can I get more? I'm thinking not. Besides, you'll be needing them, I think, if you're going back to Garillion. No," Connam leaned forward on his knees, the firelight giving his face an almost demonic pallor, "what else have you got?"

Sheppard looked down, thinking about what was in his vest. After a moment, he reached down and pulled out the binoculars. Staring at them a moment, he looked at Connam...then tossed them over. Connam turned them over in his hands for a moment, then put them up to his eyes. His mouth fell open.

"Now we're talkin'!" he exclaimed joyfully, lowering them. "What else? And does the doctor have a set of these as well?"

Sheppard sighed, but nodded. He started taking things out of his pockets, leaving only a few things—such as the ordinance he carried. Everything else, including a bottle of Tylenol, were tossed to Connam. He explained as he did so what each item was, and Connam got more and more excited. The lighter was not that interesting to the man, but he liked the sunglasses, the efficiency of the canteen and appreciated the multi-use knife. The two MRE's puzzled him, so he tossed those back. He grew more impressed by the little things than any of the arms Sheppard carried, which, oddly, made a strange sort of sense. If Connam traded with farmers, ranchers and the like, they would probably be more excited by the binocs and night-vision goggles than a grenade. In the end, Connam asked to take McKay's whole vest, liking the tough, light material. When Sheppard handed it over, he divested it only of a few items Sheppard knew he could not lose—such as the Atlantian equipment, the laptop and the radios. Connam didn't ask when Sheppard shifted those things to his now much lighter vest, though he clearly wasn't blind.

The colonel realized he was placing an enormous amount of faith on the man's word that he wasn't a thief.

Throughout it all, Sheppard kept an eye on McKay, watching the scientist breathe, always watching for some change in his demeanor, to be prepared in case the scientist suddenly worsened—not that there was much he could do if McKay did. When he started going through McKay's vest, the scientist had muttered and moaned a little, but he didn't wake, barely aware as he was gently lifted and the weight taken from him. As Connam went through the pockets, the colonel checked the bandage on the scientist's stomach. It appeared clean still. A flare of anger touched him when he remembered how McKay had run into the metal edge of that cart—damn his clumsiness! If McKay had been looking where he was going, he wouldn't have been hurt, Sheppard wouldn't have been separated from the others trying to help him and they wouldn't have acted to try and protect them...resulting in his and McKay's escape but the other's capture.

Sheppard found his hands winding into McKay's jacket, gripping tightly, half tempted to shake him awake, to yell at him, berate him for putting him in this position...

He screwed his eyes shut. What was he doing? It wasn't McKay's fault. None of this was any of his team's fault. The Governor was to blame for putting them in this position, and he was to blame for not having learned enough intel to know they were being duped. McKay tripping on a basket while they ran down unfamiliar streets and alleyways and that cart having sharp metal edges, then getting hit in the leg...that was just bad luck.

They'd seemed to have a lot of bad luck lately.

The fingers unwound, and he lowered McKay back down gently. With a shaking hand, he smoothed out the wrinkled material and sat back.

"I hate this, McKay," he whispered, though he knew the other man couldn't hear him. "I really hate this."

"Well alright then," Connam suddenly said, drawing Sheppard's attention back to the other man. The trader was grinning, surrounded by his goodies where he sat near the fire. The whole "shopping trip" had taken less than half an hour, but, by Sheppard's reckoning, it was now close to midnight on this world.

"This will be sufficient," Connam said, still smiling and indicating the goods with his hands.

"For what?" Sheppard asked, wiping the tiredness from his eyes. "The hor...the meeners?"

"Those and more," Connam replied. He leaned forward on his knees to better regard the other man. "Colonel, there's a place I use not far from here when I'm on this planet. It's safe and fairly hidden. I've used it myself to escape heated tempers from time to time. I'll take your friend there. He can stay until mid-morning on this planet, at which point I will expect you to return for him."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, "But, I thought—"

"You need a place to hide; I have a place. I'm not going to sell out you or your friend, colonel. You paid me. I stick to my bargains. I've survived this long by being a...mostly honest...trader, and I'm not about to change that."

Sheppard couldn't resist a wry smile as he thought about the "medicine" Connam had given him for McKay's wounds. "Mostly honest?"

"Yes, well, I may have to exaggerate sometimes." Connam shrugged, and smiled again in return.

Sheppard met the smile, then looked down, the smile fading as he listened to the deal again in his head. "Wait...you'll only let him stay until mid-morning? From what you've told me, It'll probably take me all night just to get back to Garillion. I doubt I will make it back in time."

"I am aware of that," Connam shrugged. "But, I also have something in the back of my wagon which should also help you meet that deadline. I was going to try and sell it on Hoff, but the people there...," Connam suddenly grimaced, his eyes taking in a haunted quality, and he had to shake it off before continuing, "Anyway, point is, I can only sell it to someone in a more advanced civilization, very few of which are left, and so you'd make a great vendee. I think, bartered against all of this," he gestured to the goods on the ground, "that the bargain is sound." He smiled again at Sheppard.

The colonel's eyebrows narrowed, "What is it?"

"A speedwheel." Connam grinned, "I bought it from a Harlean about six months ago. Now it's yours."

"A...what?"

"You don't know what a speedwheel is?" Connam looked surprised. "I would have thought...No matter. Here," Connam stood up and walked to the back of his wagon. "Come and have a look."

Throwing up the heavy cotton flap covering the back, the trader climbed up and into the wagon with a practiced ease. It was a large wagon, about the length of a small moving truck, and filled with junk. On closer look, Sheppard also realized it was made partly of metal--it had just been cleverly made up to look like wood. He watched as Connam wound around reams of stacked cloths, climbed over bags and small pieces of wooden furniture, ducked under hanging lanterns and utensils, until he finally disappeared completely from sight. Sheppard checked one more time on McKay, then stood and headed over to stand at the back of the wagon, trying to see within the shadowed interior. He managed to catch site of Connam as he rooted around, moving things like pillows, clothing and other bits and pieces from one side of the wagon to the other, then the trader suddenly smiled. He'd obviously found what he was looking for.

"Hey," the trader suddenly called back to Sheppard. "Come around the side and untie the flaps on the canvas, will you? You'll be able to see it better."

Sheppard did as instructed, going around the side and, where Connam tapped the inside of the canvas, he undid the ties holding it down. When he had most of them undone, he started lifting it up. Connam helped from the inside, grabbing and shoving it the rest of the way up, allowing the colonel to see what the trader was so proud of.

Sheppard's jaw dropped.

"See?" Connam was clearly pleased with the reaction, "A speedwheel. It'll get you back to the city in record time, I should think."

Sheppard reached forward and touched the thick rubber tire on the front, as if not quite believing it. Then he grinned.

It was a motorcycle.

———————————————————————

TBC...yeah...a motorcycle. Mmmmm.


	5. Chapter 5

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER FIVE: TWISTED AND TRAPPED**

————————————————————

With some difficulty, McKay was awakened and, after a quick explanation, allowed Sheppard to help him up and stow him in the back of the wagon. Connam had magically managed to clear enough space to lay McKay down on the floor, and had softened it with a bunch of pillows. Unfortunately, the trader had then placed a rather scratchy painter's canvas over all the pillows except the one under his head, saying something about wanting to avoid blood on the fabric, but at least he was nice enough to try. Sheppard then climbed up inside, pulled McKay up, and let him lie down, making sure to elevate his legs again.

He glanced at him once. "You okay, Rodney?"

"Yeah," the scientist said sleepily. "Tired. Are we safe now?"

Sheppard stared at him a moment, not knowing how to answer that. Finally, in avoidance, he called up front for Connam to head out.

The wagon creaked and rocked as Connam snapped the whip, calling at "Dodge" to get moving. The motion caused McKay to hiss slightly, but he soon quieted, even though every rock and bump had to hurt.

The wagon jerked and rolled through the woods, climbing and falling almost spastically, until they came to what must have been a road of sorts, and the ride grew more settled. Connam was taking them to a larger road, which Sheppard could apparently follow in the dark without getting lost. The trader promised, using the speedwheel, that it would get Sheppard back to Garillion in about three hours—thought it would take about an hour to get to it.

Sheppard hated waiting, even though he was certain Connam had the right idea. The trader had assured him there would be plenty of time for him to get back and rescue the others before the sun came up.

The only real question in Sheppard's mind was if he'd have enough time to then return afterwards and rescue Rodney.

He shut his eyes, furious at himself for dwelling on what he couldn't change. The decision was made. It was done. Suck it up, Sheppard.

Shaking his head, he opened his eyes and drew out his P90, to check and clean it. With a glance, he reached out and turned up the lantern dangling near his head, increasing the flame.

"Colonel?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow, and glanced at McKay, surprised to see him still awake.

The scientist's eyes were barely slits as he watched Sheppard fiddling with his P90. "Colonel," he asked, "where are we going?"

"To a road somewhere north of here," the colonel replied, returning his focus to his weapons. He knew he wouldn't have time to check them later except cursorily, so he was making the most of it. "It runs along the edge of the mountains, apparently."

"A road?"

"Yeah. Connam's going to drop me off there, then take you to his shack to hole up. The road's apparently a back way to Garillion, and the speedwheel should have no problems on it. It'll save a lot of time."

McKay turned his head, helped by the swaying of the wagon, and looked over at the so-called speedwheel. It did look a lot like a motorcycle, an old one. It actually looked a lot like the one Steve McQueen stole in The Great Escape….McKay smiled, suddenly imagining Sheppard flying down dirt roads like the actor in that movie, jumping logs, skidding around corners, tearing up the earth….

"Fun," he muttered, blinking lazily at the contraption.

Sheppard stopped moving, startled by the word. He looked up, and he saw McKay's dreamy expression as the scientist took in the speedwheel; the simple, joyful smile on McKay's face was something he hadn't seen since…hell, when was the last time McKay had smiled?

And for a second, Sheppard remembered McKay laughing uproariously at something he'd said, the memory like a burst of sunlight in his head. When was that? Just a few months ago—sometime after the Storm had hit and before…before they'd found old Weir. He could hear and see it vividly, the two of them grinning like idiots over something, sparring remarks, as they used to do. Oh…that's right. They'd been making fun of Ford when the young man had run away from a young girl hitting on him on PX3-768. The young lieutenant had been his usual innocent self, trying to be kind and polite, trying not to offend the poor girl, right up until she'd propositioned him in the middle of the trade negotiations by laying her hand where young lady's hands should not be placed. Ford yelped and backed off like a snake had bit him, then bolted back to the jumper with some hasty excuse. McKay had tried to stifle his amusement, then Sheppard made some comment about Ford, and McKay had burst out laughing. Luckily, the people on that planet had a good sense of humor. And Teyla was there. Teyla could smooth out anything.

A smile touched Sheppard's face, then faded again. The memories of Ford were too fresh still, only heightening the sensation of everything that Sheppard had lost. And what he could still lose.

Just then, the wagon hit a particularly large bump, and he grunted, nearly losing his seat on the box he was sitting on. Settling himself again, he looked to check on McKay on the floor, and found the scientist had rolled his head back to look at him, the smile gone from his face as well. Instead, there was worry there, the eyes wider and more alert, as if the bump had jarred something else. Sheppard arched an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Steve McQueen," McKay said, his eyes betraying a sharp nervousness, "was caught."

Sheppard frowned, not making the connection. "What?"

"Barbed wire. They were all bearing down on him. He spun around on that bike, seeking a way out, but they just kept coming. Germans coming from all sides. Helicopter, troops, jeeps, tanks…." The scientist's hands had lifted to demonstrate someone being boxed in, his breath quickening as he remembered the movie, blurring it with reality and the image of Sheppard being hunted down by faceless soldiers, until he suddenly stilled…and his hands fell limply to his chest. "He tried to jump the barbed wire, and he got caught. All twisted up and trapped. And he was the lucky one. So many were lost. Fifty men killed. Fifty!" McKay frowned, his eyes narrowing in pain and anguish, "What was the point?"

Sheppard didn't answer McKay, the movie reference not lost on him. Not wanting to meet the other man's pained eyes any longer, the colonel turned back to checking his guns.

The wagon pitched and rolled, and they seemed to be climbing a little, drawn by the power of Dodge, who was obviously a lot stronger than she looked. Up front, Connam called out a soft "Hyah," followed by a whip crack.

"Don't," McKay suddenly whispered.

Sheppard paused in the middle of whatever he'd been doing with the P90, and sighed. "Don't what?"

"Leave me. Please."

The colonel's shoulders slumped, the machine gun he'd been holding up falling to his knees. He stared down at it, the anger and guilt he had been bottling up percolating again despite all his work to quell it. Damn the man for doing this to him!

"McKay…."

"We can come back for them. Connam can take us to the gate. We'll get through. We'll come back with the Daedalus and jumpers. We­—"

"McKay, listen to me," Sheppard snapped, unable to hide the fury any longer. "Besides the fact that Connam won't take us to the gate, because we can't pay him enough for him to want to take that risk, we don't have time! The sun comes up in less than six hours, and then they're going to hang Teyla, Weir, Travis and Ronon—if they're not already dead. Connam thinks they'll wait until mid-morning, but I can't take that risk. What if they decide to hang them at dawn? I need to get them out of there now, do you understand?"

"But," McKay was almost pleading now, "what if you're caught?"

"I won't be."

"But, we could…," the scientists swallowed, "…we could take the speedwheel to the gate. It'd get us there fast enough, maybe, don't you think?"

"And if it's guarded?"

"You can take out the guards."

"All of them? Even if that were possible, how do I stop you from falling off the back of the motorcycle on the way there, when you can barely sit up straight as it is?"

McKay blinked, "I…but…."

"And how do I know that even if I can get us to the gate and through it without losing too much time, that I'll be able to turn around and get back here fast enough before the sun rises?" He shook his head, "I go to Garillion now, I can get them out while it's still dark. Maybe avoid anyone else getting hurt. I do what you want, and everything gets harder, timing gets tighter, more people could die, both ours and theirs." He pressed his lips together tightly, and shook his head, going straight to the point. "I can't take you home, McKay. Not right now. Not yet. I'm sorry."

McKay just stared at him.

"I'm doing this, McKay," Sheppard finished. "I'm not arguing with you about it anymore. I'm going back to get them out of there, and then getting the hell off this planet."

The scientist never broke eye contact. The blue irises never swayed, never moved, unyielding in their complete and total baring of the colonel's words. Most of the time, McKay's mind was moving so fast, his eyes were constantly shifting on his face, as if trying to read the thoughts blurring past his brain. But not now.

Sheppard returned to his guns.

"And me?" McKay asked finally, softly. "What about me?"

"What about you?" Sheppard retorted, a little too quickly.

"How will I get off this planet?"

Sheppard frowned, "What are you talking about? I'll come back for you."

"In time?"

"In time for what?"

McKay just stared at him. He didn't need to say it.

The colonel shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "You'll be fine."

McKay's face screwed up, showing what he thought of that.

Sheppard shook his head at him. "You just need to rest. You'll be safe with Connam until I can come back for you."

The scientist paused, then repeated, "I'll be fine."

"Yes."

"I don't believe you."

Sheppard grimaced.

"I'm not an idiot, Colonel," McKay whispered. "I know my leg is—"

"McKay!" Sheppard snapped, finally looking up again, his eyes boring into the other man's. "Stop it! You'll be fine. It's not as bad as you think. You're hurt badly, yes, but it's not life threatening. Not yet. Especially now that you're not moving anymore. And I'll come back for you!"

Up in front, Connam tilted his head, unable to avoid hearing the whole conversation. With a grimace of his own, he snapped the whip near Dodge's ear again, encouraging more speed.

Sheppard lowered his eyes again when McKay finally shut his, the scientist turning his head away to bury it more in the pillow beneath it.

The colonel grimaced, trying to find the steel from earlier, trying to find the control he needed. "I need to rescue the others, McKay. Don't you get it? We're going to get off this planet, all of us. Because I'm responsible for everyone, not just you! And I have to do what's best for the team. The team comes first—not me, not you, the _team_. I thought you understood that."

"It's understood," McKay replied coldly, the words partially muffled by the pillow.

"But not accepted," Sheppard guessed, his tone just as cold. He was starting to get angry again—angry for having to make this choice, angrier still for McKay not making it easier for him. Didn't the man understand this was the best way to insure they got as many people out of this alive as possible?

"You know," the colonel said, his rage at the unfairness of it all underlying his voice, "there was a time that I thought you were more than you seemed, McKay. More than the selfish, self-centered bastard that everyone said you were. I thought you were more than that—that you cared about what happened to the rest of us. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You really do only care about yourself."

The scientist shivered a little, reminded suddenly of Ford yelling almost the same words at him, and he opened his eyes a little.

"Like I said," McKay answered quietly, still seeing Ford's twisted face in his mind's eye, the brutal truth the lieutenant had spoken heavy in the air, "So many are lost. What's the point?"

Sheppard's brow furrowed. "What?"

McKay closed his eyes again. He was done talking. The wagon hit another bump, rocked and swayed. "I'm tired," he whispered.

Sheppard frowned, then shrugged. He didn't have the strength for this either. "Then go to sleep."

————————————————————

**CHAPTER SIX: JUST GO...**

Some time later, Connam pulled the wagon to a halt. He turned in his seat and lifted the canvas to peer into the lantern lit interior. Sheppard stared back, arching an eyebrow. McKay appeared to be asleep again.

"We're here," the trader explained. Sheppard nodded, and started moving. With a shake of McKay's shoulder, he woke up the dozing scientist and told him it was time. McKay didn't answer, pushing himself up as best he could on the pillows, his eyes blinking slowly, as if he were dizzy. Connam, meanwhile, had jumped down and was coming around the back, to help move McKay out of the way so they could extract the speedwheel.

It took some doing, even after they'd managed to "clear" enough space to move the motorcycle out of the back of the flatbed and onto the ground, and Connam jumped inside to grab a plastic container that looked an awful lot like a red gasoline can.

Sheppard stepped back, watching as Connam filled the motorcycle's fuel container, interested despite himself as the familiar smell of petrol floated back to him. McKay was half propped up on some pillows in the back of the wagon, lying there, watching with a flat expression. Normally, all this would probably fascinate the scientist, the similarities of scientific evolution, but it was as if McKay had given up on even that part of his personality.

They were standing on a fairly even dirt road, about twenty feet across, cleared of trees and shrubs. Deep wagon ruts marked both sides, suggesting heavy items were lugged back and forth along it. Probably granite and lumber, from the looks of the landscape, for building materials. Still, it afforded Sheppard his first real look at the landscape again, and he tried to place himself on his mental map of the long valley, so that he could remember this place again. A three-quarter moon helped, bringing more than enough light to discern the shapes and sizes of things.

"It acts up a bit," Connam said, bringing his attention back to the speedwheel. The trader pulled up on the fuel and capped the tank, having used more than half the gas inside the storage can. "Machinery hasn't been looked at by someone who knows what they're doing for a while. If you push it too much, it might conk out on you, so be careful."

"Not a lot of mechanics around these days, huh?" Sheppard asked, moving over to touch the worn leather handles and to get a better look at the engine. He knelt down next to it, peering at the foot pedal controls and the lines.

"No, not really," Connam agreed. "They've a few tractors and the like on this planet, mostly the richer farmers, but the only decent mechanic here charges more than I can afford." He shook his head, "I once had a contact on Belkan that I could rely on to fix most of the tech I found broken or damaged, but…Well, he's gone now."

"Ah," Sheppard nodded, standing up again. He checked the various gauges and, in a fairly short period of time, thought he figured out the way it worked. It really was a similar design to the old Triumph motorcycle in the Great Escape.

"You head that way," Connam said, pointing off to the right. "Keep the mountains on your left. When you see a massive boulder on your right, the next driveway on your right leads you to the Welles ranch. They'll rent you the meeners you need. Meanwhile, I'll head that way with the doctor," he thumbed behind him. Sheppard turned his head in that direction, and Connam stepped closer. "You see that cleft between those two mountains there? The granite's reflecting the moon…see?"

Sheppard squinted, then opened his eyes. He saw it. "Over there?" he pointed into Connam's line of sight.

"Yes, exactly. There's a scree slope and a waterfall that comes down there. The waterfall becomes a healthy stream and on it, about halfway between that cleft and this road, is the shack I acquired. It was a line shack once, for timber cutting, but they cleared the area too much so they moved on to the other side of the valley. No one goes there. He'll be safe."

"Going that way will also take you closer to the gate, right?"

"Yes."

"All right then," Sheppard said. With a nod to Connam, he headed back to the wagon to collect the things he was going to take with him. McKay didn't look at him, until he pressed McKay's radio into his hand. The scientist stared at it, then reached up with his other hand to touch his chest, as if noticing for the first time he wasn't wearing his vest.

"I traded it," Sheppard explained, "But in your pack are a few things that I didn't. Your scanner's in there, along with some odds and ends, your laptop, batteries, that kind of thing." He tapped the radio in McKay's hand, "Don't use this unless it's an emergency. It may not work anyway, considering the distances, but we might get lucky. Once I've got the others, and, with any luck, liberated their weapons and their radios from wherever they're hidden in the Citadel, I'll call you on it. Okay?"

McKay just stared at the black rectangular box in his hand, as if not really seeing it.

"McKay?" Sheppard prompted, "Do you understand?"

The eyes lifted, and McKay looked at him. "I'm not deaf," he muttered.

Sheppard frowned. "Don't be like that, McKay. I said I'm coming back. Now tell me you understand."

McKay stared at him, his eyes very dark, almost black. They betrayed everything McKay was thinking—they were both accusatory and desperate, filled with fear and filled with anger, and, ultimately, very, very tired.

"Just go," McKay said finally.

Sheppard squinted his eyes, the only sign that the response had hurt, and then nodded.

"See ya, then."

"See ya," McKay replied.

Sheppard turned, headed to the motorbike and nodding thanks to Connam, straddled it and sat down. In moments, he had it running, the engine backfiring a little, the noise seeming incredibly loud after the stillness of the night.

"Good luck," Connam said, raising a hand in farewell.

Sheppard just gave him a tight smile and a nod, then turned on the headlight. For a moment, he just sat there, listening to the engine gurgle and spit, then settle. Once sure it wouldn't die completely, tipped the bike up and took off down the road, not once looking back.

McKay watched him until he disappeared.

———————————————————

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER SEVEN: THE DARKEST HOURS**

————————————————————

Connam stood quietly, watching as Colonel Sheppard rode off on the speedwheel, skidding a little and kicking up gravel under the thick wheels before he got the hang of it. Soon, he was gone around the bend, headed back towards the city. As the sound of the engine faded, Connam sighed and turned around, looking at the man on the wagon. He saw the doctor's blue eyes shift to focus unblinkingly on him.

"You do not believe he will come back for you," Connam stated matter-of-factly.

McKay appeared undaunted. "That obvious?"

Connam frowned slightly, walking back towards him, shrugging his shoulders a little to get rid of some soreness. "I do not understand. You do not trust your friend's word?"

McKay did not answer immediately, shifting backwards to lie back down on the pillows. Connam waited, watching him settle back down.

"I trust...that they need me where I come from," McKay said finally, closing his eyes, "so someone will come. But I doubt it will be Colonel Sheppard."

A slight pinch of Connam's forehead showed he did not quite understand that response. "He seemed earnest to me. He said he would come back. Why wouldn't he?"

McKay sighed, not opening his eyes, "Colonel Sheppard's priorities...run to his friends first."

"His friends? Then what are you?"

McKay said nothing for a few moments, then sighed again, closing his eyes. "Look, I am very tired. I've been bleeding to death for most of the day and that takes a lot out of a person. Would you mind if we got going now?"

Connam's eyebrows lifted, "I just...Not to belabor this point, but if you don't think he will come back for you in the morning, Doctor McKay, I'll have to make other arrangements. Fact is, I can't afford to take care of you for very long—it will cut into my profits. I'm not fond of this planet, and I wasn't planning on spending that much time here."

Blue eyes opened reluctantly, red rimmed and shadowed by exhaustion. Slowly, they turned to regard the man at the foot of the wagon. Connam met his eyes curiously.

"Well?" Connam asked.

McKay's eyes narrowed, "Well, what? What do you expect me to say?"

"Will he come back for you in the morning?"

McKay stared at him, then, slowly, he lifted himself up on his elbows, turning a little to face the trader, lowering his head to better glare at the man.

"Listen," he ground out harshly, "I don't know what the Colonel is planning. We...haven't been on the same page for a while. But, no matter what he thinks of me personally, he knows that losing me would be very inconvenient for the people where we come from. Someone will come...eventually." And he fell back onto the makeshift bed, grimacing a little as tendrils of pain rippled up his side and down his hurt leg. He closed his eyes again, his voice softening. "Now, I'm very tired. We paid you to let me stay at your shack for one night--at least honor that. We'll worry about what happens when he doesn't return, later, okay? Now, would you please leave me alone? I've had enough misery for one day."

Connam's eyebrows arched, and he shrugged. "Fine. For now. But if he doesn't return..."

"Okay!" McKay snapped, "I get it! You can't let me stay in your little hovel forever. For Christ's sake, will you just shut up?"

Connam pursed his lips, his frustration growing. "I was going to say," he growled, "that if he doesn't return when I told him to, you will probably die, and I can't have a dead body to worry about."

A coldness ran down McKay's chest at the statement, causing him to shudder, but he wouldn't give Connam the satisfaction of just how close to the bone he'd just hit. Instead, he turned burning eyes to the trader, refusing to show anything but his usual trademark anger.

"Connam," he hissed, "if you want to abandon me in the woods in the morning, fine. For now, I just want to get some sleep, so why don't you just hurry up and drive us to whatever hell hole you call home, and leave me alone!"

Connam snorted, shaking his head. "Well, you certainly know how to endear yourself. I've half a mind to leave you out here. Save me a lot of grief."

"Why don't you?" McKay snapped back, anger flaring even brighter inside the black pupils. "That way, we can avoid any mess later. Wouldn't want my dead body stinking up your precious palace now, would we?"

Connam glared at him, his hands gripping into fists. "What is wrong with you? You act as if you want me to throw you out!" He shook his head, "No wonder you don't think the Colonel would come back for you. It's a wonder anyone would!"

McKay stared at him, "I told you, they'll come because they need me, not because they like me! The Colonel's job is to protect me. He'll do so, to the best of his ability. He doesn't need to be my friend to do that."

Connam snorted, "I see. So you don't need friends, is that it?"

McKay rolled his eyes, then turned his head away, "Are you enjoying this conversation, Connam? Because I'm really not."

"I'm just—"

"Go AWAY!"

Connam grimaced, then shook his head, noting quietly, "A warning, Doctor. If you continue to treat everyone you meet like this, you won't make any friends on the trading planets at all." And with that, the trader turned and disappeared around the side of the wagon.

McKay stared up at the canvas overhead, seeing beyond it to all the faces of the "friends" he'd lost this year. Finally, he closed his eyes.

"Exactly," he whispered.

————————————————————

Sheppard flew down the mountain road, skidding around corners and paying almost no attention to what was around him. He was so angry at McKay, he was fit to bursting. How dare he question him like that? Where did he get off?

Slowly, as he curled around one particularly sharp curve, he realized the "road" he was on had started to get smoother, and his anger began to subside. Slowing, he quieted the motor, looking around at his surroundings. The ground was more level than angled, suggesting he'd reached the valley floor, or close to it, which meant he was getting close again to civilization. Taking more careful stock, he recognized that he and McKay had slogged through woods a lot like these on their flight, before meeting up with Connam.

Connam.

Sheppard trusted the trader about as far as he could throw him. But he didn't think Connam would sell them out, not unless pressed.

But he probably would make McKay leave before he...before he...

Oh God.

He slowed the motorcycle...speedwheel...whatever...even more, until it was moving barely as fast as a normal bicycle, then hit the brakes completely, putting his foot down.

For a moment, he just sat there, listening to the engine's soft "put-put" and trying to leech the emotions from his psyche. He didn't have time to be angry at McKay, or to worry about him, or to think about what would happen to him. McKay was as safe as he could be right now. Teyla, Weir, Travis and Ronon were not. He had to get them home. Once done...he could think about McKay again.

It had been the logical course. The only course.

But something inside was rebelling. Nausea assaulted his senses, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from emitting a roar of frustration. He scrunched his eyes against the liquid he felt there, then turned his face to the sky above, opening them wide.

"Son of a bitch," he hissed through clenched teeth, "Stop it!" He closed his eyes tightly again.

Damn it, why couldn't he just stop caring about McKay? He didn't want to care about anyone anymore! He'd become too close friends with the man, just as he'd become too close to Ford, and too close to his men in Afghanistan. Why hadn't he learned his lesson then? He couldn't allow himself to become to close to anyone. Teyla could do it. She seemed to have no problem distancing herself from all of them. Probably because she'd done so for years—you had to in order to be an effective leader. Weir seemed capable of caring for everyone equally as well. Why could they do it, and not him? He didn't want to care about McKay more than anyone else. Just as he wished he hadn't cared more about Ford...or Mitch...or Dex...

Why couldn't he just...

"Damn it!" he yelled out loud to himself, "you don't have time for this!" He had to rescue the others. McKay knew that...McKay understood. Didn't he? He hadn't wanted Sheppard to leave, but deep down McKay must have realized that there wasn't a choice there. Sheppard had to prioritize. That was just the way life went. Out here, decisions had to be made. McKay knew that.

He'd called McKay selfish. Why had he done that? McKay wasn't selfish. Well, he was, but not about things like this. The man had never once put his life before those of others...so why was he now? No, he must have read the man wrong. That was it. McKay understood. He had seemed like he hadn't, but he must have understood.

Looking forward, Sheppard blinked a few more times, working the last kinks out of his body.

"Okay," he said quietly to himself, "you need a plan, Sheppard."

Revving up the motor again, he got the speedwheel moving again, and focused on watching for patrols and other dangers now that he was back in their range. At the same time, he started working out a plan in his head.

It had been about eight hours since he had left Garillion with McKay. If the soldiers who had taken the city and arrested his team needed to wait for word from this King Stewart then, with any luck, they'll still be there.

So, first, hide the bike outside the city and buy the horses. Then, reconnaissance. Third, rescue the team. Fourth, get everyone home.

Sheppard shuddered involuntarily, then gritted his teeth.

Focus. And Get It Done.

————————————————————

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER EIGHT: PLANNING THE ESCAPE**

—————————————————————

Sheppard leaned against the side of the saloon on the edge of the large city Garillion, half hidden by empty wine and liquor crates, listening to the old men as they gossiped about yesterday's events "up on the hill." The group of four were wizened and aged, playing a game of cards as they discussed the world they rarely took part in anymore, out here on the outskirts. The bottle of wine Sheppard had bought for them twenty minutes ago, delivered by a very tired waitress and offered to them as a "thank you gift for old veterans," had been heartily received and almost completely drunk in the span of twenty minutes, further loosening their tongues.

Of course, at nearly four in the morning, one had to wonder how they weren't all comatose from the amount they'd probably been drinking all night.

Still, as it turned out from their conversation, Connam had been right. The Governor was arrested for treason, and the King was coming the next day to see him tried. Many of the Governor's people, including his wife and children, were imprisoned, to be transferred later on in the week to a prison somewhere else on the planet. The old men whispered and laughed about all this, taking the events in stride. They'd been around too many years not to find the politics of their world both terrible and amusing at the same time.

Sheppard closed his eyes, willing them to move on to his teammates. He'd wandered around the city for almost an hour before coming across anyone speaking as freely as these old men. But, as of yet, they'd not spoken of...

"What are they doing with the arms dealers?" one of the old men suddenly asked, laying down a card with something that looked like a snake on it. "I understand two of them are women," he raised a lecherous eyebrow, "pretty ones at that."

"Hanging 'em," a different old man said, "Before the king gets here. I think Commander Chanee wants their bodies to greet his majesty as he rolls in here around noon." He snorted as he laid down another card, then spit on the ground. "Serves the scum right."

"Still," another old man snatched up the card his friend laid down, "It's a shame if they're pretty. Don't like seeing pretty things hurt like that."

"Eh, don't let looks deceive you," the first one said, wagging a finger. "I heard these people are the worst of the worse. Killed ten of the king's guard trying to escape. The smaller woman's deadlier than a snake and the big man's worse n' a stampede of drams. I heard them other two, the older woman and the other man, gots con-mans' tongues—probably the most dangerous of them all. No," he shook his head, "they're in a deadly business. Always comes to a deadly end."

Sheppard leaned back and shut his eyes for a moment, wondering at the strangeness of it all.

The one who'd asked the original question drew a card. "What time's the hanging."

"Early. Eight in the mornin's what I heard." The one with all the answers sniffed, wiped a hand on his nose and then on his jacket and leaned forward. "Y'all are going, right?"

Three muttered assents answered him, and the same man nodded, grinning toothlessly.

"Here's hoping for some squealing, eh?"

The others laughed, and a disgusted Sheppard pushed away. He didn't want to hear anymore.

Finding an alleyway, he slid down the darkened street and knelt down to peer at his watch in a sliver of light from a window. It was still about an hour before dawn. Three hours to the hanging.

Moving again, he soon came to the corner of the alley and looked out on a larger roadway, then up.

The road curved up away from him, rising towards the height of the pass. Up there, he could make out the massive stone citadel on the cliff top, the massive structure overlooking and dominating the valley from above. Fires were lit along the crenellations, highlighting the thickness of the walls. At the base, he knew, there would be barred windows...dungeons.

"Right," he whispered, adjusting his weapons under the thick woven cape he'd borrowed from a handy clothesline, "here we go..."

—————————————————————

Connam leaned against the doorframe in his little shack, regarding the sleeping man in the little room in back. Doctor McKay was lying on a small cot with his head turned towards the far wall, so the merchant trader couldn't see his face.

For a little while, he just watched the other man breathe.

He'd managed to muscle the doctor in here a couple of hours ago, the younger man almost insensible. He'd considered trying to clean his wounds, but...didn't really see the point. Besides, he hadn't promised to take care of this man, just to let him stay here.

Connam didn't believe in doing more than he'd agreed.

But he also didn't go back on his bargains.

Quietly, he backed out of the room and shut the door separating it from the main room of this small shack. The fire behind crackled and sparked, and the bedroll Connam had laid in front of it looked inviting. He'd stayed up to finish completing his books, but there was no point in not sleeping now.

He glanced at his watch, a nice electronic one he'd purchased from a man in Garillion the last time he'd been on this planet. People here knew of technology, as did everyone on the main trading planets, they just didn't need it that much. He'd gotten this watch for a pretty good price. Adjusting it, he set the alarm for 9:00 in the morning, then headed over to the bedroll.

Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

—————————————————————

Sheppard had watched the comings and goings into the kitchens near the base of the Citadel for a while. The rooms were cut into the base of the cliff, and a bright, hot yellow light poured out of the doorway leading inside, sharply cutting into the darkness of the night. The staff were in the process of starting the day, greeting the various vendors bringing fresh grain, fruit, vegetables and meat up the road from the city below, soft hisses escaping their mouths to float on the breeze. Discussion was clearly about the events of the day before, about the veracity of the tales running around town.

Sheppard grimaced, sliding closer to a large hay cart. Meeners in a nearby corral stomped and snorted at him, seeing him there even if no one else did, but they soon got used to his presence when he stayed still for a little while.

He was waiting for an opening.

A squeal burst out from inside, followed by some angry swearing.

Sheppard's eyebrows arched as, all of a sudden, two or three small furry rodent like creatures burst out of the door. A second later, a flurry of people, men and women, followed them out, shaking brooms and screaming, clearly incensed, while the vendors not taking part watched and laughed.

Sheppard grinned. As the people fanned out across the courtyard, he slipped between some the vendors carts...got near the door...glanced inside...then ducked into the temporarily empty kitchen.

He was in.

—————————————————————

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

McKay grimaced, shifting a little on the cot he was lying on.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

What the hell was that noise?

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

"Would you please stop that?" he hissed, his voice a scratchy whisper. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

The noise stopped.

For about ten seconds.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

"I said, stop that!" McKay sat up abruptly, eyes flying open in annoyance, and he stared at the end of the cot.

Steve McQueen glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, gave an insolent smirk, then threw the baseball at the wall of the shack. It hit the wall with a "_thwack_", the floor with a "_bump_" then landed back in his hand with a soft "_thut_."

He made to throw it again.

"Stop it!" McKay demanded again, "That's annoying!"

"I know," the other man replied. "That's the point." He looked at McKay, his eyebrows lifting questioningly, "Isn't it?"

McKay blinked, taking in the bedraggled U.S. military outfit, the name "Cpt. Hilts" emblazoned on the man's shirt, just above his heart. He could hear someone speaking German through a window, and the sound of crickets on the breeze. The smell of urine and sweat was strong in here. Swallowing, he realized where he was. He was in the Cooler with Captain Virgil Hilts, the "Cooler King." And this was a dream. Shifting backwards on the cot, he dragged the green army blanket with him and leaned against the wall.

Hilts grinned suddenly at him, and threw the ball again. McKay followed the arc, the near perfect symmetry of it, all the way until it hit Hilts' hand again. _Thwack...bump...thut._

"You have to keep moving," Hilts said. "You have keep trying. You can't give up. No matter what happens."

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

"But," McKay swallowed, "Fifty men died because you escaped. Fifty people we'd come to like. We knew their names, their faces...we'd come to care for them. What was the point?"

Hilts arched an eyebrow, "They were good men." _Thwack...bump...thut._

"They were your friends."

"Yes," Hilts grinned again his one second grin again, before the features fell flat again. "They were." He threw the ball again. _Thwack...bump...thut._

McKay shifted up again, "But...don't you get it? They'd still be alive, wouldn't they? If you hadn't all escaped. If you hadn't run. If you had just stayed still...stayed safe..."

Hilts shook his head, the undaunted expression on his face unwavering.

McKay didn't understand. "Are you stupid! They're all dead! They escaped and they DIED!"

"No, they didn't," Hilts snapped back, turning to stare at him again. "If they hadn't tried, they'd be dead, even if they were still breathing." He turned away, raising the ball again to throw it. "And we'd do it all over again. All of us."

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

McKay stared at him, breathing heavily, and he looked down. He could feel the sweat on his face, and he reached up to try and wipe it off. He paused when he saw the red on his hands. Blood?

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

He looked up again. Hilts had his attention on the baseball again, throwing it against the prison wall with accuracy.

_Thwack...bump...thut_.

"Why?" McKay asked finally. "You'd do it all again...Why?"

"Because it's not your nature to give up," Hilts replied. He turned slate-blue eyes to McKay, eyes boring into the other man, almost through him. "Are you sorry you knew them?" he asked sharply. "Are you sorry you knew Grodin and Gall and Ford and Dumais? Are you sorry you know Sheppard and Teyla and Weir and Carson and Ronon? Are you sorry you stepped through that Gate and found Atlantis? Are you?"

McKay's bottom lip trembled, and he shrugged, "Maybe..."

"Liar!" Hilts threw the ball again, but this time it hit the wall with an almost explosive force, the aim off. McKay jumped when it spun towards him. Hilts grabbed it before it hit, snatching it from the air at the last minute. He was standing now, leaning over McKay, a sneer on his face. He placed the baseball on McKay's chest, and started pressing it down on his sternum with an almost painful force.

"Don't you get it? You think you can hide from yourself? Stay in here, stay 'safe?' You can't. It's not in your nature." Hilts shook his head, snorting in derision. "You're not what Ford said you were, McKay. You know what a friend is. He told you to go back to the jumper, and you knew where it was, but you didn't, did you? Why not? Why didn't you run away from him then? He let you go, and you stayed with him. You knew he was crazy, but you went after him. Why?"

McKay just blinked.

"That's what I thought." Hilts snorted, straightening up, drawing the baseball back to his own chest, "Now the others need your help. You can either stay here, hiding, telling yourself you don't care, pretending you're only interested in your own self, or you can do something to try and help them." He backed away, tossing the ball in the air and catching it. Then he smiled, "You're going to help them, McKay. You can't stop yourself. It's time you quit fighting it and remembered what it was like to be alive again...to be you again."

McKay lowered his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up again. Sheppard stood there now, watching him, rolling the baseball between his hands.

"What do you say, Answer Man?" Sheppard asked, smiling genuinely and tossing the baseball playfully in the air. "Time to wake up?"

—————————————————————

TBC...thank you all so, so much for your reviews! And those of you spotting my little name plays...LOL! Every name's on purpose, except Garillion, which means nothing except that I thought it sounded cool. I think I read too much Dickens as a kid--I can't help but hide meanings in things. At least I didn't have Connam buy the motorcycle from the son of a Harlean named David, eh?


	8. Chapter 8

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER NINE: THE RETURN OF THE LIGHT**

————————————————————————

Sheppard ducked down a side corridor, narrowly missing being caught...again...by several guards trooping down the poorly lit halls. Didn't these people ever sleep?

With barely controlled patience, he counted softly to ten in his head, then lifted up his life signs detector. Clear for now. Damn thing needed more range.

Letting out a slow breath, he crept back out into the hall and slid down the cold, stone walls. The firelight had cast everything with a warm, orangey glow, but it was just an illusion. When you got right down to it, this place was an icebox in the lower levels.

And yet, down he went. Every staircase, he took. Every step down, he followed.

All he knew was that he wouldn't stop until he hit bottom.

————————————————————————

Rodney woke slowly, as if he were climbing up out of a deep hole, trying to reach for the faint suggestion of light at the top. He was desperate to wake up, anxiety driving him to fight the hold sleep had on him, his fear so strong he could taste the tinniness of it on his tongue.

With a gasp, he surged forwards, and found himself half leaning off the side of a cot in a small, dark wood paneled room. A sharp, stinging pain rocked his abdomen, while a duller, throbbing pain enveloped his left leg. Gritting his teeth, he screwed his eyes shut and shifted backwards, trying to relieve some of the agony he was in. The cot creaked and moaned beneath him, and he stilled, half worried it might collapse.

He tried to cobble together his memory, to understand where he was and why, but nothing made sense. He remembered…running. With the colonel holding him up. He remembered the blood. He remembered shots being fired at him and the others. Why? Where? Ronon! The image of the tall, Herculean Ronon Dex going down under an onslaught of soldiers shot to the forefront of his mind. Ronan was hurt!

"Colonel!" he yelled, once more attempting to surge off of the cot. But the attempt was as pitiful as the yell itself, which had turned out more like a croak. Coughing, trying to relieve the painful dryness in his throat, he tried again, using his arms to pull himself forward, trying to get numb legs to respond, calling for Sheppard. He needed to know what was happening, needed to know who was hurt. "Colonel!" The second yell made him cough even harder. Damn it, hadn't Sheppard just been there?

The door burst open, light flooding in from the room beyond, and a stranger with blond hair stared down at him, silhouetted so completely his face was invisible. All McKay could make out on his face was a pair of glittering eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming in from a small window above the cot. The scientist couldn't stop himself emitting a short squeak of fright.

"What!" the man demanded angrily, clearly unhappy for some reason. "What do you want?"

"Who are you?" McKay demanded, rubbing at his throat, not hiding his complete confusion over the appearance of this stranger. "Where's Colonel Sheppard? I have to find the colonel! What have you done with him?"

The man stared at him a moment, then sighed. "Oh, wonderful," he muttered, shaking his head and moving into the room further, paying no mind to the way Rodney shrank back on the cot. McKay coughed a little more as the stranger pulled out a lighter similar to Teyla's and a candle burst into flame on a sideboard next to the door. Rodney blinked at the increased light, brow furrowing as he was able to see more of the room. The stranger moved even closer, peering at him with dark eyes. "Look, Doctor McKay, the colonel's not here. He left you here with me until he comes back, or I kick you out." The stranger leaned over, revealing more of his face from the shadows, "Remember?"

If anything, McKay's blinking increased, and the bewilderment on his face resolved into an expression of frustration. More memories were coming back now, and he fought the fog numbing his thinking, trying to get them in order. A knot grew in his chest as clarity returned, rising up his neck, and he felt himself stop breathing. Images of Ronon going down, of Teyla trying to lead Travis and Weir down a different route and being trapped, of Sheppard yelling at him to keep moving, of leaving the others behind….

No! Sheppard wouldn't leave them in trouble! He didn't leave people behind.

"What are you talking about?" he spat, the vitriol thick on his tongue. "Don't you understand? Ronon's hurt! They could all be hurt. My friends! I have to help. Where's the colonel? He needs me!" He sat more upright, and moved to swing his legs over the side of the cot, "I have to­—"

Pain suddenly exploded from his left leg when he tried to shift it, bursting up his left side and completely taking over his senses. He cried out and toppled forwards off the cot, almost blacking out, but the stranger was suddenly there, holding him up. McKay finally got a good look at his face, and the memory of this man holding a gun on him and Sheppard was suddenly very clear.

He gasped and tried to back away, still reeling from the pain he felt, but Connam…yes…that was his name…Connam held on to his arms, gripping them tightly, almost harshly. It grounded him enough to hear what the other man was saying.

"Calm down," the trader hissed. "Calm down and be still. You'll make yourself worse if you keep moving. Just calm down."

"Worse?" McKay gasped. "What happened?" He coughed harshly, "My throat..."

"Your leg. You've hurt it. And you've a gash on your stomach." Connam said, his voice softening, but not releasing the grip he had. "Now you have to calm down."

Rodney shook his head, unable to do anything right now except ride out the pain and concentrate on finding the others. He couldn't calm down, not yet, not until he knew why they weren't trying to rescue Teyla, Elizabeth, Travis and Ronon. For a moment, he stared at the base of the cot he was lying on...was that a baseball sitting there? He pressed his eyes closed tightly, then opened them. The ball was gone. With watering eyes, he looked at Connam, his need to understand clear on his face.

"Please," he begged, whispering now since his voice was all but gone, "where is the colonel?"

Connam sighed again, then moved to push the clearly disoriented McKay back so he was half propped up against the wall, his legs stretched out on the cot. Reaching over him, the trader plucked a cup off of the small windowsill and handed it to the scientist.

"Like I said, Doctor McKay, he's gone. To rescue four of your people. I'm assuming Ronon is one of them." Connam paused a moment, waiting for McKay to down the water in the cup before continuing. "Try to remember. The two of you ran away from Garillion, which was under fire, and you were hurt. The colonel was trying to find a safe place for you to hide and rest before he headed back for the others. You found me instead. I brought you here. And he left. Took my speedwheel." He sighed, gently plucking the now empty cup away from McKay's fingers. "Sound familiar yet?"

McKay frowned, and looked at the end of his bed again. Connam said the colonel was gone, but he could've sworn Sheppard had been standing right there...

"But...why didn't he take me with him?" he asked finally.

"Huh?" Connam looked surprised by the question, and he shrugged. "Are you kidding? He had to make a choice, remember? You or them. Your leg—you wouldn't make it."

McKay frowned a little at that, looking down at his left leg. He saw the bandage tied around it, and frowned some more. So he had a hurt leg, but his brain still worked, right?

"I don't understand. Why would he leave me here? He can't rescue them alone! I should be there to help—"

"Help?" Connam snorted, "Please. You mean, you actually care about those other people?"

It was asked so snidely, that McKay felt like he'd been slapped.

"What?" he asked.

"A few hours ago, you couldn't see beyond your own suffering," Connam said, still coldly. "Now you want to ignore it and skip off and help them." He shook his head, "If this is a death bed repentance, Doctor, it's a little late."

Repentance? Death bed?

"I don't…I didn't…." McKay shook his head, trying to clear it. It felt stuffed with cotton balls and weariness tugged at him still, trying to drag him back down. But the others were in danger. He couldn't go back to sleep. Deep down…deep down, he knew sleep was impossible until he knew they were all alright. Why was he just lying here, if the others were in danger? Why did the colonel….

Like a lightning bolt, it all came rushing back and McKay seemed to sink in on himself. His last words with Sheppard before the colonel had gone came back with a vengeance.

"I didn't want him to leave," he realized in shock, his voice still very soft. "I tried to guilt him into staying." He remembered it all now, and he lifted his wrist, looking for his watch to see how long it was until morning.

Connam snorted, "That's right. Good job, by the way. Oh, he tried to hide it, but I could still see the way leaving you behind bothered him. Not sure why. I'd leave you behind in a hot second."

McKay blinked slowly, and he stared at his leg again. The white edges of the bandage were soaked with blood, and dried lines of black blood snaked down towards his knee from the covered wound. After the flare of agony from before, it felt strangely numb now, only a dull, soft ache. If he survived it, it would scar.

"I…"

"Doctor, this is pointless. You should go back to sleep. We can talk about this in the morning." And with that abrupt statement,Connam nodded at him and walked back to the door, blowing out the candle as he did so. McKay watched him go, then closed his eyes.

"Wait," he pleaded softly, "I can't…I need…I need to find a way to help them." He opened his eyes again, looking towards the door. Connam was standing just inside the frame now, partially in profile as he stared off to the side. He was once more silhouetted by the yellow firelight behind, making his blond hair almost glow like a halo where everything else was in darkness. The light created some funny shadows on the trader's face, especially with the pointed beard and long, aquiline nose, and McKay vaguely found himself wondering if this was what Hades looked like. Connam finally sighed and turned to look at him again.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but it's a little too late for that," the trader said. "You can't help the colonel or any of your friends anymore. And, frankly, I don't really think you want to. Guilt is a powerful motivator, Doctor McKay, but it's weak compared to real compassion. If you survive this, you should think about that."

"No," McKay shook his head, "You don't…you don't understand."

"Please. I've seen your type before. Self-important, arrogant, petty—people like you over-populate every world I've ever been to. The colonel was obviously assigned to protect you, right? And the others too? But, in the end, he'll choose their lives over yours, because theirs have more real value, no matter how important you think you are." Connam sneered a little, and turned his head away to look out into the other room. "Admit it, you just want to get home, hide yourself away, and forget all about them."

McKay's face reddened, which was amazing considering how pale it was. "You," McKay coughed, then snapped, "You don't know me."

"Sure I do."

"No!" McKay yelled, his face reddening even more, "You don't!" It took a lot out of him, but it also gave him back a little of his real personality, and Connam found himself turning in surprise at the vehemence in the other man's voice. His curiosity returned as he saw depths in the other man's eyes he hadn't seen before. Frowning, he crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe.

"Really."

"Yes, really," McKay sneered, the effect ruined by another light fit of coughing.

"Are you sure you know yourself?" Connam asked, arching a bushy eyebrow.

McKay didn't answer, though there was a brief flash of uncertainty on his face at the question before once more showing a deep determination.

Connam shrugged, too tired to argue anymore. "All right, fine. Tell me how you plan on helping them, then, Doctor McKay. Tell me your brilliant plan to help your friends and let's see if it has any chance in hell of succeeding."

McKay stared at him a moment, then looked down. After a moment, he looked up again, "I don't know."

"There."

"No, no, I..." The scientist looked around, "Where are we, exactly?"

Connam shrugged. "My shack."

"No, I know that now," McKay snapped, before coughing again. Raising his voice was not really helping the scratchiness of it. "Are we close to the Stargate?"

"No."

"How far away is it?"

"By foot? 6 hours. By one legged shuffle, too long for you."

"But by wagon?" McKay's eyebrows lifted.

Connam shook his head, "No. I'm not taking you to the gate."

"Yes, yes," McKay snapped, "I remember that. I'm asking you how long would it take you without me?" He coughed again, and rubbed at his throat, not taking his eyes from the trader's.

The question engendered a moment of surprise, and Connam found himself turning more fully to look at him, more of the defensiveness fading from his posture. "What?"

"How long would it take you alone. Top speed?"

Something in the trader's eyes glinted, "Top speed?"

"Yes."

Connam seemed to waver a moment, before answering, "Three and a half to four hours."

McKay looked down, then up again. "How long do you think my friends have?"

"About the same. Maybe a little more. It's five o'clock in the morning right now. The hanging'll probably be close to ten."

McKay looked down, then up again. "It'll have to do." He grimaced. "Will you..." he suddenly coughed harshly, then tried again, "Will you go and deliver a message to my people for me?"

Connam stared at him, then crossed his arms tightly again, "First of all, even if I did push Dodge to get me there that quickly, there's no guarantee the guards will let me pass through. The valley's going to be locked up right now, with you two on the loose. Second of all, I'm not about to help you make war on this planet. These people are my friends. If you think I—"

"I promise you," McKay said, forcing back another cough, "my people do not need to go to war to stage a rescue. I doubt anyone will even be killed. And, as for the other…," he shook his head, "you're a trader. Probably a well known one, yes? I'm betting the guards know you and I think they'd let you through." He arched an eyebrow, "Am I wrong?"

Connam's lips twisted, then he shrugged, "Perhaps. But if I do this, what do I get in return?"

McKay stared at him, then pushed himself up a little more on the cot. "I overheard you tell the colonel that the speedwheel acted up sometimes." He paused, licking his still dry lips, and emitted another cough. Swallowing harshly, he took in a breath and pressed on. "My guess is, the speedwheel is not the only bit of technology you have in your wagon. Is there anything else in there that is broken? Anything else you need fixed?"

Connam tilted his head, "fixed?"

"I'll fix anything you have. All I need are a few tools, and I can probably make anything you have that is broken working again."

Connam continued to watch him warily, "But we don't have much time."

"Then leave it with me here. I promise you, whatever you give me will be fixed when you return. Plus," McKay licked his lips, his voice's power getting thinner the more he forced himself to talk, "In order for you to deliver my message, you'll have to go to…a place to meet more of my people." He coughed, then gave a weak smile. "Think of the potential trading possibilities? A whole new group of people to make bargains with? You said yourself, technologically advanced people are hard to…." He trailed off, and suddenly started coughing violently, the dryness finally too much.

For a second, Connam watched him, then he disappeared out the door and into the main room. A moment later, he was back, shoving the tin cup newly filled with water into the scientist's hands again. McKay drank as best he could around the coughing, finishing it quickly. After a moment, his fit stilled, and, though he wheezed, he managed to once more meet Connam's eyes.

"So?" he asked, coughing the word.

Connam just stared at him, then gently reached out to take the empty cup from the shaking fingers.

"Can you really fix anything?" the trader asked, his eyes narrowing speculatively.

McKay nodded without hesitation. "Anything."

Connam gave a small smile, undeniably impressed by the other man's supreme confidence. "Then I think we can make a deal."

————————————————————————

TBC...ah, there we go...that's one...


	9. Chapter 9

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TEN: A JAILBREAK AND A JALOPY**

——————————————————————

Connam half carried McKay out of the shack and into the still very black dead of night. Lanterns were lit all around the open space in front of the cabin, deepening the shadows in the sheltering woods and making them appear alive.

Normally, McKay would have been scared out of his mind, but he was just too damn tired. Instead, the scientist wordlessly let Connam carry him over to the wagon and sit him down on the ground near the front, propped up against some of the crates Connam had removed from the interior. Clicking his tongue, the trader nudged his enormous ram-headed horse out of the way and started undoing the cloth on the front of the wagon.

McKay tilted his head, watching curiously as the heavy covering was thrown back, revealing a large boxed in portion of the wagon behind the driver's seat. He hadn't seen it before, but then, he hadn't really been looking for it.

Sitting on the ground, he was also able to see more of the underside of the wagon, and he realized he could see more than axles under there.

Connam grinned at him, grabbed a lantern that he'd placed nearby, and knelt down, shining the light on the underside of the contraption.

McKay's eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. Then he smiled weakly.

"Well, that's unexpected."

The wagon had an exhaust system.

Which meant it had an engine.

It was a goddamn flatbed truck…albeit, circa 1906, but still.

Connam grinned. "Dodge is powerful, but she can only pull so much weight on her own," he explained. "This was originally a truck that my parents acquired when I was still very young, and they converted it into this wagon—essentially camouflaging it so that it wouldn't seem out of place on the less developed worlds they traded with." He tapped the broad, rectangular box behind the driver's seat, "And it served us well for many years. Whenever it broke down, we could usually find someone on Hoff or Harlean or Belkan who could fix it. But with the Cullings and all…," Connam turned, his smile fading a little as he regarded what was obviously his most prized possession, hands almost petting the wagon. "I've been looking for years for someone to fix it. Not having it nearly forced me to leave that speedwheel behind, for example, for fear that Dodge couldn't handle the weight. She did, of course," he glanced over at the dram, "but it slowed us down considerably. She prefers to ride whenever she can." He grinned, and looked at McKay again. "Fact is, if you can fix it, Doctor, I'll be able to get back to the gate in far less time than I said before. Within two hours, for certain. And, in return, not only will I deliver your message, but I will take you as close to the Gate as I can risk without being caught." Connam placed his hands on his hips, grinning now, "So, what do you say?"

McKay still couldn't quite believe it. Part of him was exulting…and another part was thinking about total lack of replacement parts. It wasn't like he had a soldering iron, and this wasn't exactly near a handy junkyard. Swallowing, he held out a hand.

"Help me up," he said.

——————————————————————

Sheppard wrinkled his nose as he stepped lightly down the slick, mold encrusted steps leading down into the dungeons. The staircase spiraled, and he'd been on it for a while, sending deep into the bowels of the Citadel inside the cliff. For some reason, he hadn't really expected the smell—it was as if he were walking down into a pit toilet. He fought his gagging reflex as he descended, keeping his eyes forward and focused and his feet soundly placed on the worn steps. He was wearing the pair of night vision goggles he hadn't traded to Connam, because he didn't want to risk the flashlight on the P90 giving him away to whomever might be seated at the base of this staircase. The green world they created was really not helping his nausea.

The sound of a chair scraping on stone somewhere down below caused him to pause, and he listened for a moment as someone—probably a guard—shuffled around. Then the chair creaked again as whoever it was sat back down.

He had to be close now. A couple more turns, maybe….

Pulling out his knife, Sheppard held it butt first, preparing himself.

There were probably at least two guards. All he had to do was….

BAM!

Sheppard nearly jumped out of his skin as the sound of a door slamming open somewhere down below rocked the narrow staircase and reverberated up the stone walls. It was immediately followed by the sounds of a fierce scuffle, and new sounds of bones breaking and men grunting as they were slammed into walls.

"Ronon, duck!" Teyla's voice echoed up the spiral, the order accompanied by a strange sort of _pphhtt-thut!_

She'd obviously just thrown the knife she always kept hidden on her ankle at someone. Sheppard loved that knife.

"Thanks," Ronon's deep voice answered her, the sound of his voice also echoing slightly, though less so.

"You're welcome," she answered, almost cheekily. "Travis,are you all right?"

"I'm not dead," came the lawyer's shaky reply. Ronon chuckled.

Teyla spoke again, "Good. Now we need to…Wait. Someone is coming."

As soon as he understood they were executing a prison break, Sheppard had started to bound down the stairs, pulling up on his goggles and turning on the flashlight on his P90. The steps Teyla heard were his.

"Flashlight?" Ronon suddenly said, clearly seeing the beam reflected on the curving staircase first.

"Why, yes it is," Sheppard called, coming around the corner and landing on a straw strewn floor with a massive grin. The base of the staircase opened into a fourteen foot square guardroom, off of which a currently wide-open iron door led deeper into the dungeon area. Ronon and Teyla stood on opposite sides of the room, and between them were four unconscious guards. Doctor Travis was leaning against the doorframe, gripping what looked like a big stick in his hands. The fighting grip Teyla had on her still bloody knife loosened, and she smiled.

"Colonel," she breathed, not hiding her relief. "We were worried."

"Sheppard," Ronon greeted, the large man already moving to relieve the prone guards of the revolvers and knives they carried.

"_You_ were worried," Sheppard chuckled back, pulling out his 9MM from his holster and tossing it to Teyla.

She nodded as she caught it with her free hand, eyeing the dark stains on his clothes, aware they were created by blood. "It has been a long time. We did not know what had happened to you or…" She trailed off, looking behind the colonel to the stairs, as if expecting to see someone else there. Which, of course, she would. Sheppard's joy at finding them alive and well faded instantly.

"He's safe," he said quickly, averting his eyes from hers, pretending to watch Ronon's pilfering. "But I had to leave him in order to come back to rescue you." Teyla tilted her head, knowing him too well—knowing he was holding something back.

"We got tired of waiting," Ronon joked dryly from where he was still kneeling next to a downed guard, putting guns in the pockets of his long coat and sliding a knife inside his belt. Sheppard gave him a wry look in return. When Ronon stood up again, he staggered slightly, and Sheppard realized he saw dried blood on the man's neck.

"You okay?" he asked.

"He was unconscious for several hours, waking up only a little while ago," Teyla answered darkly, looking worriedly at Ronon, who, in turn, just stared back impassively. "Doctor Travis, Doctor Weir and I tried to get him some help, but they ignored our requests."

"I do not think they care much about our well-being," Travis quipped darkly, adjusting the grip he had on his stick.

Teyla grimaced and nodded. "It made the need to effect an escape seem more imperative."

"Speaking of Elizabeth," Sheppard said, looking past her to the open door, "is she still down there?"

"No." Her grimace turned into a real frown as her hand tightened on the 9MM she now carried. "Doctor Travis and she spent several hours cajoling the guards, demanding a doctor for Ronon and information as to what was happening. Finally, someone—a military officer of some kind—came down to speak with us. Doctor Weir demanded an audience with whomever was in charge, to plead our case and perhaps make a deal of some kind, and the officer agreed. He took Doctor Weir with him, but not before she asked us to stay behind to see to Ronon, who was still not awake."

"She wouldn't let me go with her," Travis said, clearly not happy. He was the second most proficient negotiator on Atlantis with his legal background, but too many years as a scientist in a lab had dulled those skills. He had come along to learn from Elizabeth. And now he was afraid they had lost her.

Teyla nodded, and her eyes narrowed, "She was taken a couple of hours ago."

"Okay," Sheppard absorbed this with a nod, and he looked at Ronon. "You feeling well enough to put up a fight?"

Ronon just arched an eyebrow and glanced down at the guards. Sheppard nodded. Man could probably have two broken arms and a peg-leg and he'd still fight better than anyone Sheppard knew.

"Right, gotcha." The colonel looked back to Teyla, "Do you think you can remember where the armory is that Medved showed us yesterday morning?"

"Yes," she answered with complete certainty. Sheppard tried not to think that, in this respect, she reminded him of McKay whenever the man said he could fix something. He shrugged off the thought, already moving onto the next step.

"Right, then I want you and Travis to get down there, find our weapons and our radios—particularly our radios—and then head towards the kitchens. It's a back way in and out of this Citadel. Go outside into the courtyard and find a place where you can watch the main door, and wait for us there--preferably near the meeners."

"The what?" Travis asked.

"The horses," Sheppard explained, he made a circling motion by his head, "with the horns." Teyla, meanwhile, nodded in acceptance.

"Are you sure our things are still there, Sheppard?" Ronon asked, reaching up a little with one hand towards his back as if missing the comfort of the sword he normally had strapped there.

"No, but, then, I didn't know where the dungeons were either, or if you'd be here. Luckily, both they and you were where I expected, with the exception of Elizabeth. Let's just say I'm hoping these people stay predictable."

Teyla nodded, understanding the need for speed over hesitancy at this point. "How will we know where the kitchens are?" she asked.

"Smell. Either that, or follow the servants. Their quarters are all near the kitchens. They're still getting ready for the day, so are probably going to be going back and forth a lot."

"And what about you and me?" Ronon asked.

Sheppard gave him a smile, "We're going after Doctor Weir."

——————————————————————

TBC...there they are!


	10. Chapter 10

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: REPAIRS AND RESCUES**

—————————————————————

McKay fought back another wave of dizziness, trying to stay upright as he leaned over the dark engine, his bad leg propped up as high as possible. It wasn't helping much. Connam had placed about six lanterns around him to shed light on the contraption, and, though they provided the much needed light, they also made McKay feel like he was in an oven. Sweat poured down his face, his mouth felt as dry as Death Valley, and when he wiped his dirty, oil encrusted arm across his forehead and face for the third time in so many minutes, he was reminded of the futility of trying to walk up a down escalator.

Connam watched him from the other side, his eyes unreadable. McKay couldn't tell if there was concern there, or simple curiosity.

"You find you what's wrong with it yet?" the trader asked.

"In a way," the scientist answered huskily, swallowing back some of the bile on his tongue in an attempt to clear his mind. It was a mostly dry swallow, making his already damaged throat hurt more. The glass of water Connam kept refilling was once more empty by his side—it was if he couldn't get enough. He really wasn't feeling well. With a shaking hand, he started pointing to different parts of the engine. "Your fuel valve is faulty, causing raw fuel to leak into the engine, which would make it run rough and speed up the overheating. Your fan belt is broken, your radiator is cracked and you're missing whatever was used to cap it off. The pipes leading to the exhaust system are blocked up and," he gave a long sigh, rubbing his arm over his forehead again, "the intake valve is also blocked, because your filtering system is a joke." He leaned forward, exhausted by the litany of problems. Black streaks marked his face now, the sallow skin underneath looking even paler and sicklier as a result.

Connam tilted his head, studying him. "I see," he said, not really seeing anything at all. "Can you fix it?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you don't have the parts needed to replace them," McKay replied snippily, "and they need replacing. In fact, almost everything in here needs to be replaced. If they're not busted now, they soon will be—this engine's so far past its prime it's not even funny. Plus, even if we could replace the parts, it still wouldn't start."

Connam grimaced, "Why not?"

"See that?" McKay pointed to a black box near Connam's hand, "Do you know what that is?"

"Sure, the generator box."

"I call it a battery. It's dead. You need a new one."

Connam stared at it a moment, then frowned. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"What can we do?"

McKay continued to stare at the battery, trying to get his sluggish brain to move. He needed to sit down. He really did. Better yet, he needed to sleep, and to get away from this heat, and to go home. He put his head on his arms again.

"You know," Connam said softly to the bowed head, "Perhaps this is for the best. It was a long shot in any event, was it not? At this point, even if I left now, I would be unlikely to make it to the gate in time to get a message to your people." He paused a moment, and McKay imagined he could see the trader shrug, "I'm sure your friends will be all right. Colonel Sheppard seemed particularly steadfast in his devotion to rescue them."

Yes, McKay thought, he would. Whereas I can't even fix a god damned jalopy!

Come on! he hissed angrily at himself. Wake up! It's just an engine. A plain, simple, engine. Piece of cake! If you were home, you'd have this fixed in an hour!

"We should return inside. You need some rest."

McKay lifted his head up, blinking at the engine, then across it to the older man. Connam's eyebrows arched curiously.

"Tar," the scientist whispered.

"What?"

"Tar. Sealant. Some kind of sticky, viscous substance. Duct tape. You got any?"

Connam frowned, then shrugged, "Sure. Tar. I have tar. What is duck tape?"

"And we'll need jugs," McKay swallowed again, valiantly ignoring the spinning world, "for water."

"For you?"

"For the wagon."

"Ah. Wait…really?"

"I can patch it all up temporarily. At least until you're through the Gate and," McKay paused, swaying a little drunkenly before shaking his head, "back home. My people can fix it properly there." He heaved a sigh, "And…I need my pack. In it should be a small beige scanner. Can you get it?"

Connam leaned back, eyes bright, "Of course! I'll be right back!"

McKay snorted a little, not wanting to admit he was amused by the other man's new found enthusiasm, and leaned forward over the engine again. His eyes scanned the major problem areas, but, in particular, he inspected the battery's connections.

A noise behind him proved that Connam had moved quickly, and when McKay turned, he found his pack being thrust towards him.

McKay nodded in gratitude and took it. It was much, much lighter than it used to be, but at least Sheppard hadn't traded away the Ancient scanner device. Pulling it out, McKay looked at it for a second, before pointing towards the toolbox Connam had pulled out before they'd even started looking into the engine.

"There a screwdriver in there?" he asked.

Connam nodded and bounded to the toolbox, then rummaged for a couple of minutes. With a crow of delight, he pulled out a long handled screwdriver and held it up for inspection. McKay nodded, extending a hand, and Connam literally slapped it down on his palm, earning a wince from the scientist.

"Thanks," McKay muttered, returning his attention to the scanner. Connam watched curiously as the scientist regarded the small device with something akin to sadness.

"For what I am about to do," McKay whispered, "Please forgive me."

And with that, McKay used the screwdriver to break the scanner open and apart.

—————————————————————

Sheppard and Ronon slid down a hallway, the colonel trying to remember the layout of the Citadel in his head. They had managed to find one guard who was willing to talk...in return for not having his throat slit...who told him where Weir was likely to be. Apparently, the chief officer in charge of the King's guards, Commander Chanee, was holding his own court in the Governor's former private rooms. A few directions from the guard and they were on their way...but they weren't great directions. "Turn right at the suit of armor" turned out to be pretty unhelpful when there was a suit of armor on every corner. Sheppard figured, as long as they kept moving up, they'd get there eventually. Hell—that was how he found the dungeons. He just kept going down.

Slowly, they moved soundlessly around a corner and into an alcove recessed within a side hallway about ten feet from a large wrought-iron door. Two guards stood at full attention in front of it, staring straight forward down a different hallway leading directly to the entrance.

"This looks to be the place," Sheppard whispered.

"Could be," came the simple response.

The colonel flexed his eyebrows at Ronon, then looked back at the guards. He was glad they were so steadfast...meaning, they didn't look to the left and right. Apparently, they only feared attacks from straight ahead.

Good thing.

Softly, he pulled a smoke canister from his vest, gave Ronon a smirk, then popped the top and tossed it towards the two men.

The guards both jumped at the small can, then started coughing and gasping for air, completely unused to this form of attack. Sheppard and Ronon were on them in seconds, knocking the guards down and into unconscious heaps before either even saw their attackers' faces.

Turning, Sheppard grabbed the handles of the door...and smiled to find it unlocked. How careless can you get?

With a shove, he pushed it open...

And walked in on a contingent of guards twenty men deep. They turned towards him, mouths open.

"Ooops," he grinned, raising a hand, "Sorry about that. Wrong room."

He and Ronon took off running, the sound of gunfire from the guards' revolvers echoing off the walls behind them.

—————————————————————

TBC...hee...


	11. Chapter 11

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWELVE: LESS THAN IDEAL**

———————————————————

Connam busily tried to patch everything McKay had asked him too, including pulling out a type of tape very, very similar to duct tape, and wrapping all the hoses and pipes inside the engine with it. He spent the bulk of his time on the radiator, slathering it with sealent and tar, watching as cracks he hadn't seen or hadn't thought important filled in and closed. He'd already cleaned out the valves and pipes that McKay had said were blocked, and, he had to admit, if these were his bowels, he wouldn't be running well either.

McKay, meanwhile, had completely disconnected the battery and was attaching what appeared to be an incredibly tiny power cell from his scanner to the engine, using thin wires that seemed as delicate the threads of a spiderweb. He sat on the bench for the driver, completely still except for his hands, focused only on what he was doing and nothing else. He didn't even look like he was blinking, the pale blue eyes fixed and impossibly steady.

Finally, Connam leaned back from his work, wiping away the sweat from his face, and looked over at McKay.

They'd been working at this for nearly an hour—it was almost six in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to streak the sky above, pink lines among the indigo blue. It looked to be a clear, beautiful day. Small favors.

"This should dry pretty quickly," Connam told the scientist, watching McKay fiddle. "This sealant has properties that make it very fast acting. Probably ready to try it in forty five minutes or so."

McKay didn't look up. The trader licked his lips, sighed, and started moving things out of the way, then went inside to get them some more water. Maybe ten minutes later, when he emerged again from the shack with a full pitcher of water, he found McKay slumped over on the driver's seat, his eyes closed, hands and arms limply hanging over the engine.

Connam hissed, put the pitcher down, water sloshing over the sides and onto his hands, and jogged quickly over to the wagon.

The scientist was beyond pale beneath the dark smudges, and the dirty blue shirt covering the bandage on his stomach was spotting dark patches of red. The thick bandage on his leg was also soaked through, desperately needing to be replaced. It had still be white when Connam had dragged McKay out here to look at the engine, but too much movement and too little care had clearly started the wound bleeding again. Damn.

Connam shook off his worry and grimaced. Clambering up onto the wagon, he sat down and slid along the bench until he was next to the scientist, leaning over to see him better.

"Doctor McKay?" he asked softly.

No response.

"Doctor?" the trader reached out, touching his hand lightly to the broad shoulder. Still nothing. Was he breathing? Reaching a little further, he pressed his wet fingers to McKay's neck.

The scientist flinched at the cold touch, and his eyelids fluttered. He coughed a few times, then half-heartedly tried to swipe at the touch on his neck, unaware that Connam had already taken his hand away.

Connam released a heavy sigh. "Doctor," he said, gratitude thick on his voice, "thank the stars. Are you all right?"

McKay turned his head, peering up at Connam with half hooded eyes. The dirty look he gave the trader answered the question.

Well, Connam had to admit, it was a pretty stupid question.

To avoid saying that out loud, he looked to the dead battery, and at the small power cell that McKay had taped to the top and attached a mess of wires to. It was like replacing an elephant with a mouse.

"Is it done?" he asked, not hiding his suspicion about the efficacy of what he was looking at.

"Yeah," the word was more breathed than spoken.

"It's so small. Is it really going to work?"

"It's about ten times more powerful than that black monstrosity, and it's lasted over ten thousand years," came the croaked answer. McKay pushed himself up on the seat, grunting a little as he did so, then looked at Connam. "It'll do just fine."

"Provided you were able to hook it up effectively," the trader noted. "Those wires look sort of thin. I know they're from your device but…." He stopped when he saw the look McKay was giving him.

This time, it was more angry than irritated, and seemed to galvanize the scientist enough to sit up straighter in order to answer Connam's unspoken question.

"Of course it isn't ideal," the scientist spat, "but it'll work. It's not the means, but the ends that matter right now, and I know what I'm doing." He looked at the rest of the engine, squinting a little as he examined it. "Did you patch up everything I pointed out?"

Connam tried not to take his attitude personally. "I think so. Should dry in the next half hour or so."

McKay nodded, then put his head down, closing his eyes again. The anger suddenly seemed to leak from him, like a popped balloon. "Good," he said tiredly.

Connam watched him for another minute, then gave a wry smile and looked over at Dodge. If this worked, he'd have to set up space for her in the back. It would probably take him the same amount of time as it would for the sealant to dry to reorganize and secure the items in the wagon.

"I need to sort out the wagon," Connam said, moving to climb down off the seat. When he hit the ground, he looked over at the dram, then back at McKay. "Of course, doctor, you realize that, if this works, you'll have to share your space back there with Dodge?"

McKay's eyes cracked open slightly, then closed again. "Wonderful," he muttered.

———————————————————

Sheppard ducked after Ronon into a dark side room, shutting the door behind them and sitting down with their backs to the door. The colonel panted, trying to get his breath back after the mad dash to this place…wherever they were. The Citadel was large—half a dozen stories and more rooms, passageways and back-staircases than he could count.

He just hoped Teyla and Travis had made it out.

Ronon listened at the door, head tilted slightly, eyes unfocused. Sheppard calmed his erratic breathing down and waited for the verdict.

"We've lost them," the runner finally stated, straightening.

Sheppard nodded, "I think that was the wrong room."

Ronon frowned slightly, as if not quite sure if Sheppard was serious or not. "Yes, it was," he agreed solemnly.

The tiniest twinge of disappointment touched Sheppard at the plain reply, but he shook it off. Standing, he turned to look at the closed door, then turned and regarded the room they'd hidden in. Flipping on the flashlight on the P90, he found they were in what appeared to be library. Books upon books lined the shelves on all sides, and several comfortable chairs were spaced strategically around the room under tall, thin, church-like windows. He grimaced when he realized the sky outside was growing pink with the approaching dawn. It must be about 6:00 by now.

His eyes narrowed, remembering seeing these windows from below. As was typical of every fortified structure he'd ever seen, whether they be castles or prisons, they only had windows of this size on the uppermost floors. So, they were very likely very close to the governor's former suite—where Weir should be.

"What now?" Ronon asked, eyeing him.

Sheppard gave a wry smirk. How odd that a man as fiercely independent as Ronon Dex would so easily fall back into the habit of taking orders. Almost as if he had missed it.

"Well, we're on the right floor. We just need to find the right rooms," Sheppard said. He walked over to one of the tall windows and looked out and the lightening countryside. They appeared to swing inwards. Turning his flashlight off, he attached the weapon to the front of his utility vest and reached up to unhook the latches of the window.

"What are you doing?" Ronon asked.

Sheppard didn't answer as he opened the windows, letting in the crisp morning air. The valley spread out below them. At the opposite end, he realized he could just make out the ornate clearing in which the Stargate sat. From this distance, it was tiny, like a tiny gray dot on the landscape. His eyes involuntarily shifted to the right, to the granite cleft where Connam said he was taking McKay. It looked an insurmountable distance from here.

Shaking his head, he leaned out the window and looked down...and smiled to see the ledge there he'd spotted earlier from below. It was at least ten inches deep. Dangerous, but not impossible.

"Well," he said, "roaming the halls and knocking on doors is probably going to be pretty difficult right now so..." He looked back at Ronon, his cheekiness in full force. "She can't be far from this room. What say we try the back door in?"

Ronon stepped up next to Sheppard and leaned out the window, seeing the same ledge. He nodded.

"Lead the way," he replied.

———————————————————

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: GETS THE BLOOD FLOWING**

—————————————————————————

Connam attached the steering column to the front, adjusting and oiling the connections to the drive mechanism, not bothering to check on the doctor sleeping on the bench. With a grunt, he slotted the awkward mechanism into the slot and, balancing it on his shoulder, started to tighten the bolts to keep it in place.

When he was finally done, he stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead, and a grin lit his face.

It had been years since the wagon looked like this, like the truck that it was.

With a proud nod to himself, the older man walked around the side and looked into the engine. Tentatively, he touched a finger to the sealant on the radiator, and grinned when it came back dry. The grin faded somewhat when he regarded the spiderweb like wires running from his generator box to the tiny power cell that Rodney had fixed to the top of the box. It really just didn't look like it was going to work. Still...

"All right, then," he said, clapping his hands together and looking up at Rodney. The scientist didn't react. Connam pursed his lips, but, he could see Rodney was breathing, so he didn't think the worst. With some effort, he closed the covering of the box holding the engine and then walked to the side, where the crank handle hole was. "I'm firing her up," he said out loud to his unconscious audience.

Grabbing the crank handle, he fitted it into place, then jumped up onto the driver's bench to make sure the vehicle was in neutral and the choke depressed. Then he leapt back down and took the crank in both hands.

"Please," he whispered to himself, as he started to crank. The first turn was rough, but then it became easier and easier...

A smile lit his features as the engine started to whirr. Faster and faster, it began to make noises he hadn't realized he'd missed.

Something about the engine's sound must have startled McKay, because the scientist jerked and opened his eyes, pushing himself up slightly off the bench to look around.

As soon as the noise steadied, Connam pulled the crank, tossed it into the wagon, then jumped back up onto the driver's seat. Chewing on his bottom lip, the trader started pulling levers and pulling out the choke, shifting to feel the gears catch.

"Come on," he whispered, letting the fuel into the engine bit by bit, waiting for it to take, "come on..."

An explosive backfire erupted from the exhaust pipe, and the engine burst into life with a roar.

"YES!" Connam cheered, practically leaping out of his seat. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" He looked like he wanted to dance a jig, run a mile, and scream at the top of his lungs all at the same time. McKay had managed to push himself up into a sitting position, and was still sort of looking around dazedly. Connam grabbed the scientist's shoulder and shook it. "We did it!"

"Hunh," McKay frowned, looking behind him at the closed engine box. Then he looked up at Connam, eyes blinking very slowly. "Then can we go?"

Connam's smile faded a tiny amount, then burst back into life. "Yes! I've got the jugs of water in the back, for the radiator, and everything packed. Let me just get Dodge on board and we're out of here."

McKay just gave a tiny smile and closed his eyes again. "Finally," he whispered.

—————————————————————————

Elizabeth stood as proudly as she could, with her arms tied behind her back and her red shirt partially torn. She was not about to show this hideous man even a moment's weakness despite the verbal and mental abuse he'd been torturing her with for the last two hours.

It had been apparent from the moment she'd arrived that Commander Chanee was an old, lecherous ass, his gray hair and craggy face failing to give him any air of wisdom or intelligence. He was the epitome of every bad military movie she'd ever seen, where the top brass were always conservative, war-mongering, young-handsome-upstart hating boobs. She had never actually met a general or a colonel like that in any military organization...until now.

He'd laughed at her at first, making advances and touching her face and neck, ripping open the zipper on her red shirt to reveal more skin. But her undaunted sneer had finally put him off, and he'd taken to trying to frighten her unto submission with words. He'd taunted her, yelled at her (complete with spewed spittle), berated her and even pushed her physically once. It was the only time he'd actually "hit" her, and the way her right shoulder throbbed, she knew it had bruised. Not that she really noticed. Hell, she'd received ten times worse from her brothers growing up.

The thought made her smile once or twice, thankful for the rather rambunctious up-bringing she'd had. Being the only girl surrounded by five boys was more than enough to get her ready for negotiating with the dictators and petty tyrants of the world.

It made Chanee seem even more pathetic.

The old man finally backed off. He'd switched tactics after the first hour, prompted by things Elizabeth said, unaware of the subtle ways she was turning his thinking. She eventually got him to start playing a sort of "game" with her, where, in return for information from her, he'd reward her with things like an extra half-an-hour on the hanging deadline, or breakfast for her people in the dungeons or, and though it hadn't been her main purpose, a stay on the execution of the governor's children and wife.

Delaying the hanging, though, was her main purpose. Her hope was, if she could get them to delay long enough, it might be enough time to give John and Rodney time to either break them out of here, or get home to Atlantis and come back with jumpers. Either that, or time enough for the King of this planet to arrive so she could speak with him. She just hoped he was more of a politician than this idiot.

So far, she'd managed to "win" almost two hours, pushing the hanging to 10:00. She was pretty sure she could get him to delay it until noon, if she kept at it.

In return, the information she gave him was mostly nonsense. Information about the Governor and his people, stuff she was pretty sure Chanee already knew, and information about the "weapons" they had been planning to trade. Nothing she gave him was of any real value—but it seemed to satiate the old man's desire to seem like he was beating her down.

"So," Chanee said, pacing back and forth near the tall windows behind him, "tell me again about these 'flash-bangs' as you call them?"

Elizabeth sighed, "They deliver a..." she trailed off, her mouth hanging open, staring out the windows behind Chanee's back. The Commander stopped pacing and turned to face her, his brow furrowing. When he saw what distracted her, he immediately turned around to look out the same tall, thin windows. The sun was peeking over the hills to the north of the valley, shedding everything in a reddish light, while the valley floor remained shrouded in darkness.

He frowned, and looked back at her. "What?"

She shook herself, focusing back on the old man. "I...the...the dawn," she said.

He watched her a moment longer, then suddenly smiled, lifting his head. "Ah, the last one you'll see, yes?" He chuckled, throwing his arms around his back and shaking his head, "A sign of your impending doom. I understand."

Turning, he walked back to the windows, to the one in the middle, and unlatched the metal hook. Throwing it inwards, he sucked in a deep lungful of the morning air and patted his broad chest. Turning once more to face the woman watching him, he smiled. Weir's own expression hardened.

"Nothing like a crisp morning breeze to get the blood flowing," he sneered, taking a step back towards her. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Her eyebrows flexed, "To get the blood flowing?" she repeated. She shrugged and smiled, "Actually, I think a solid whack on the back of the head probably gets it flowing more freely."

Chanee looked down and snorted a laugh, thinking she was making a joke, then he paused as his mind registered what it was she had just said. He blinked, looking up at her again.

"I don't understand," he said.

She just grinned wider, her eyes narrowing in contempt. "Oh, that's okay," she promised, "you will."

Chanee jerked as the butt of one of Ronon's stolen pistols smashed across the back of his skull. The old man fell like a stone, landing in a boneless, unconscious heap on the floor of the chamber. Ronon grinned ferociously, sneering down at the man. Sheppard jumped down into the room after him, stepped over the prone body and around Elizabeth's back, to untie her hands.

"You okay?" he asked over her shoulder as he sliced the bonds with a knife.

"Better now," she said, pulling her hands apart with a sharp tug and a grateful sigh. Pushing the ropes off, she rubbed at her wrists and regarded the two of them with smiling eyes. "What about the others?"

Ronon just growled and bounded over to listen at the door to the chamber. Sheppard, meanwhile, arched an eyebrow at her and lifted his radio, tapping it a couple of times.

A moment passed, then the radio came to life.

"_Colonel Sheppard_?" Teyla's whispered voice asked, the sound a little static heavy.

"Teyla, you and Travis outside?" He looked at Weir as he asked the question, and saw her lift her eyebrows.

"_Yes_," Teyla replied, still whispering. "_We are by the meeners, as you suggested_."

Sheppard nodded, "Can you get in the corral?"

"_Yes_."

"Then climb in with Travis and, if any of those animals are saddled, take a knife and cut the cinches on the underside. Understood?"

"_Yes_."

"Good. We'll be there soon."

"_Understood_."

"Sheppard out." John put the radio down, and turned to look at Ronon. "Well?"

The big man stood at the door, still listening. After a moment, he shook his head. "There's too many guards out there. They're still looking for us." Ronon shrugged, "We could try to fight our way out."

"Hmmm," Sheppard looked back at the window. "I'd rather not waste the bullets or the energy." He looked around the room they were in. It was one of a series of rooms in what was obviously the Governor's main suite. A front parlor from the looks of it. He glanced at the expedition leader, who was trying to adjust her torn shirt. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes?" she asked, looking up.

"Places like this...don't they usually have escape routes for the nobles if they're attacked?"

She shrugged, "Sometimes. I have seen priest's holes in the larger castles. They may not lead anywhere, however."

He grimaced, "Hmm. Okay, look around, see if you can find something. Ronon, watch that door."

"What are you going to do?" Elizabeth asked, already moving to inspect the walls.

"I'm going to see if there's a way up to the roof of this place," Sheppard replied. "There were guards up there, and I think I saw ladders leading up to the different levels when I was checking it out from below. It might be our best bet to get out of here." And with that, he headed back to the window to climb outside again.

—————————————————————————

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ON THE MOVE**

——————————————————————

Connam grimaced, gripping tightly to the shuddering and shaking steering column, trying to keep them in a straight line down the uneven, wagon rutted road. The whole contraption shook and rattled, despite his best efforts to secure everything down. He heard Dodge's plaintive whinny as she was knocked around in back. She didn't like this anymore than he did.

Doctor McKay, on the other hand, appeared fine with it. As if rough rides were something he was used to. The scientist had elected to stay up front, strapped in and gripping hard to whatever he could hold on to.

The new bandage Connam had placed on his leg before they left was already spotting red. It was a wonder the doctor had any more blood left to lose.

The shadows under his eyes, like the shadows under his cheekbones, were black against the pale skin, adding to the ghoulish appearance of the poor man. But the blue eyes stayed gamely open, staring straight ahead.

They were making good time. The wagon, rusty and disused as it had been, was still running. They'd stopped once to refill the radiator with water so far, but otherwise they'd been driving along steadily for near an hour without stopping. At this rate, Connam estimated, they'd be in the proximity of the gate by around 9:00 a.m. or so.

The trader glanced at McKay once, then returned his attention back to the road.

——————————————————————

Sheppard stayed low, knowing Elizabeth and Ronon were doing the same behind him, trying to stay under the edge of the fortified wall atop the Citadel's roof. The three guards up here had gone down with a combination of Ronon's throwing power (a heavy ceramic ball from the governor's rooms had gotten one of them in the head), Sheppard's fists and a rather effective use of a curtain rod by Elizabeth. Propping the guards up against the wall so it appeared to anyone checking down below that they were still conscious, the three escapees moved across the square roof to where they could see the top of a ladder peeking up over the wall.

Upon reaching that section, Sheppard peeked through an arrow slitin the wall at the roof of the next level down, and saw more guards down there. Four of them. None were looking up—they were all looking out and down. The morning sun had yet to reach this far down into the valley, meaning the shadows still afforded the escapees some protection.

He hoped they stayed that way. He turned and grinned at the two people with him.

"Ready?"

Elizabeth gave him a half-hearted smile and hefted her curtain rod, and Ronon gave an almost feral grin in anticipation.

Sheppard was really glad Ronon was on their side.

——————————————————————

They stopped again, now about a third of the way to the gate. McKay watched as Connam poured the second jug of water into the steaming radiator, the older man swearing a little as he tried to avoid the incredible heat coming off the engine.

When he was done, Connam leaned back, looking like he'd just run a mile with the amount of sweat pouring down his face. He shook his head, looking up at the scientist.

"Give it a minute," McKay said softly, his voice a pale comparison to what it had been just six hours ago.

Connam nodded, moving to put the jug into the wagon. When he returned, McKay was peering into the engine, eyes darting around as he inspected the patch up job they'd done to get it working.

"Can I ask you a question?" Connam asked, waiting for the engine to cool down as McKay suggested. The scientist shrugged in reply.

Connam tilted his head. "What changed?"

McKay frowned, looking up at Connam, "I'm sorry?"

"You know I'm not going to take you through the gate, and you know what that means, but you're trying to help your friends anyway. I was wondering...what changed?"

McKay stared at him, then down again at the engine. Finally, he sighed.

"That's just it," he admitted. "I didn't change. I tried to, but I couldn't."

"I don't understand."

McKay grimaced, "Three months ago, the Wraith..." he paused, his brow furrowing a little as if in pain from the memory, "The Wraith nearly destroyed us." He closed his eyes, rubbing a shaking hand against his forehead. "At one point, I thought...Colonel Sheppard was dead. One of the best people I'd ever known, and my best friend. And that the rest of us would soon follow." He let the hand fall, following it with his pale eyes, his voice getting softer as he spoke. "I'd already lost so many that I worked with, whom I was responsible for, and one in particular…I think I could have saved Peter, but I just wasn't fast enough. I couldn't stop it. And our soldiers, dropping all around, trying to protect me, thinking I could save them. Ford…who was just a kid really...he went crazy. And I knew, if I'd only managed to move a little faster, thought quicker, or understood more…." His eyes opened, but the didn't seem to see anything in front of him. "And then, suddenly, the Wraith were gone. And I could think again." He lifted his head, shaking it. "But I kept seeing everyone we'd lost…."

"You felt guilty."

"Survivor's guilt," McKay's upper lip lifted in a sneer. "Sure, that's what they called it, trying to fit it in a nice little box." He shook his head, "But it's more than that. I didn't just survive. Those people were my responsibility. I really did fail them. I'm supposed to be able to fix everything, solve every problem. Sheppard and his men, they think they're there to protect me. They don't see that almost everything I do is also to protect _them_," he spread a hand out, gesturing at whomever he saw in his head, then let it fall into his lap."Sheppard almost died, and a lot of good people did die, because I couldn't think fast enough, couldn't find another way to save us…."

Connam grimaced, looking down.

"So, I've been trying," McKay said, lowering his head again to look at the hot engine, "not to think about them. To not care. For three months now, I've been trying." He covered his eyes with his hand. "But they come back. In my nightmares. In my sleep. They won't leave me alone. I wake up terrified every time, thinking I've failed them…lost them…didn't try to stop them from dying." He blew the air out of his cheeks, lowered his hands and stared out at the forest.

"I thought," McKay's voice was nearly a whisper now, "that if I was the only one who mattered, that if I became completely self-absorbed, that I would feel it less. Feel their loss less. I couldn't take the pain of it any more, see, and I just wanted to…to…."

"Run away?"

McKay turned his head to see Connam's face. There was understanding in the older man's eyes, a real knowledge. But McKay shook his head.

"Forget." The scientist closed his eyes.

Connam shook his head, "But it doesn't work."

"No," McKay agreed, "it doesn't. Every day, when I wake up, I try to bury them deeper. Mind over matter, you know? Everything that I am is based on the strength of this," he tapped his head. He looked at Connam again. "But I can't do it. They won't stay buried."

Connam nodded. "I see," he said, then, with conviction, added, "and I know."

McKay watched him a moment longer, then nodded.

Connam did know. Probably everyone in this galaxy knew, who had ever suffered and survived at the hands of the Wraith.

Connam suddenly clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking once more at the engine. "Well, looks cool enough to me. Shall we keep moving?"

McKay just nodded, no longer looking at the Trader.

——————————————————————

"Whoosh," Sheppard whispered, sliding down the last ladder to land with a soft 'whumpf' on the flagstones of the main courtyard. The other two were already pressed against the wall in the shadows, eyes searching for danger, aiming to sneak through a still shadowed archway that would lead them to the side of the Citadel where Teyla and Travis were. It was amazing they'd made it this far without being caught.

Elizabeth still clung to the heavy curtain rod she'd been hefting since she stole the metal object from the governor's suite. Ronon had the large ceramic ball, now rather chipped, in a pocket of his greatcoat. The value of everyday household items. They each now also carried stolen revolvers, but none had dared use them for fear of bringing too much attention to their escape.

Sheppard snuck into the shadow next to them, gave them a thumbs up, and led them around the base of the massive stone structure. Ducking around a few corners and across a rather impressive herb garden, they soon reached the courtyard where the kitchens were. Sheppard stopped them in a corner and pointed across the way to where a huge corral of maybe fifty meeners stood, rather tightly packed in. Weir and Ronon nodded in understanding, and soon they were slinking around the courtyard.

Morning sunlight was bleeding across the roofs of the buildings around them, like molten gold, flaring up when it hit the windows and probably waking the still slumbering people within. It was just after seven in the morning now. The city would soon be fully awake. Down below, the poorer denizens, such as the trademen and the farmers, like the kitchen staff in the Citadel, were doubtless already awake, but up here, in the richer part of the city, the noblemen and wealthier merchants were probably getting a little lie-in.

Sheppard tried not to think about what would happen when the city was fully alive and the soldiers were looking for them in earnest. Right now...he just wanted to get across this last courtyard.

He smiled when he saw a shadow suddenly wave at him and the others.

Within moments that seemed like hours, they were shaking hands with Travis and grinning with Teyla. The Athosian then opened a bag, in which she had placed all their weapons and radios. Ronon's smile grew enormous as he lovingly cradled his sword and gun.

Still, they said no words as the group, now five strong, proceeded to climb out the back of the corral and down a thin, dark alleyway that Teyla and Travis had scouted out while waiting.

Slowly, carefully, ducking into corners every time they heard a noise, never standing quite fully upright and never allowing anything to slow them down, they shifted, slid and scurried their way through the streets of Garillion. Always, they headed downhill, towards the valley floor, to get as far away from the Citadel looming over them as possible.

——————————————————————

The next time Connam stopped to fill the radiator, McKay asked him for two sheets of paper to write on. The trader complied easily, watching as McKay pulled out a rather neat looking pen from his pack. He didn't question the simple device, just smiled impressed as the doctor scribbled two notes very quickly with it.

When Connam closed the engine again and sat back down on the driver's seat, McKay handed him the two notes.

"This one," McKay whispered, his voice a painful croak, "lists the parts you need. When you get to the address I've written at the top," he indicated the Gate Address written across the top of the paper, "ask for Doctor Simpson. She'll take care of what you need."

Connam arched an eyebrow. "She?" It was rare to have a female mechanic.

"She's a great engineer," McKay promised, "One of the best. But don't tell her I said that," he added, a rueful smile on his face.

Connam gave a small smile, and, with a nod, tucked the note inside his shirt. McKay handed him the second note.

"Hand that one," McKay said, "to any soldier you meet that's dressed like me." He smiled a little, then blinked tiredly. Connam nodded again, and unfolded the note. His eyes scanned the page, and then he frowned.

"What is this?" he asked, looking up, "Code?"

McKay gave a short, raspy laugh. "No," he replied, "not exactly. Just tell them it's from me and that they need to get it to Colonel Caldwell. Okay?"

Connam shrugged, "Okay. But...why write in this...way? You don't trust me?"

"Not if you get caught," McKay replied weakly.

Connam actually grinned at that. "Ah, yes, clever. Okay, Doctor McKay. Consider it done. Bargain sealed."

McKay nodded, and leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes, "Thank you."

And Connam set them moving again.

——————————————————————

TBC...


	14. Chapter 14

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SPLITTING APART**

—————————————————————

They reached the old, abandoned barn where Sheppard had hidden the meeners almost an hour and a half after they'd first reached the kitchen courtyard. The distance to this small structure wasn't more than a couple of miles from the city's outskirts, but, between constantly having to dodge the many patrols of now very awake guardsmen and the sudden upsurge in the population as the regular city folk finally emerged from their homes, it had taken an incredibly long time to move even this short distance.

At some point, when they were close to the edge of the City, the bells had starting tolling up in the Citadel, now over a mile away from their position. Within moments, bells started ringing across the whole valley as every watch tower from Garillion to the Gate took up the call. They'd watched helplessly as birds bearing a striking resemblance to the extinct carrier pigeons on earth were released from high up in the Citadel's walls, the creatures winging their way to guard stations elsewhere along the main roads and thoroughfares of this planet with orders.

"Oh dear," Elizabeth had said, her green eyes tracking the birds as they spread out overhead. It had come out more resigned than worried.

"Yeah," Travis agreed, the doctor rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Keep moving," Sheppard had ordered, nudging the tired doctors in front of him.

So they'd moved.

Sheppard checked his watch as they hit the barn hidden inside the forest curtain, noting it was almost 8:30.

He wondered if Connam was up yet.

Mid-morning, the man had said. What was that? 9:00? 10:00?

What did it matter. He wasn't going to get back there in time.

He fingered the radio on his jacket, though he knew the distance was far too great for it to reach him.

"John?" Elizabeth was watching him, noting his distraction.

He looked up, finding all eyes on him, waiting.

Grimacing, he ordered Ronon to stay outside to scout and keep watch, and indicated the others to follow him into the barn.

"Travis," he said, stopping the doctor at the door, "let me know if Ronon sees anything."

The scientist nodded, stopping just inside the large doorframe, intense brown eyes unblinkingly following Ronon as the big man patrolled outside, blending in surprisingly well with the scenery. He looked much more comfortable now that he had his sword strapped to his back again.

Teyla and Elizabeth followed Sheppard to where he'd tethered the five meeners he'd purchased, regarding them with a weary eye. They needed to be saddled. He'd purchased saddles, but had carried them on one horse rather than leave them saddled and uncomfortable all night long. They may not be horses, but they sure seemed like them, and he wasn't about to treat them any differently from how he'd been taught.

"This our way home?" Elizabeth asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice. She looked at the tall animals with something akin to fear. Sheppard glanced at her, then at Teyla. The Athosian also did not appear too happy. He remembered now that Teyla had not seemed particularly comfortable riding the meeners to the Citadel when they'd first arrived, and she'd winced and limped a little the following morning.

"We don't have much choice," he informed them. "It's a lot faster than walking, and time is sort of limited right now."

"I just," Weir swallowed, her nervousness increasing, "I'm a little scared of horses."

"Meeners," Teyla corrected, reaching up to touch one of the horses' necks, gently running a hand down the thick, soft hide. The meener lowered its head, clearly appreciating the touch. She smiled slightly, then let it fade. "But I must admit, I too am a little concerned. I am not sure any of us are experts at—"

"Actually," Travis called from the door, raising a hand, "I used to race horses." He shrugged, "They were rodeo races, not racetrack, but a race is a race."

Three very surprised faces turned to the open doorway, and Travis quirked a smile at their expressions. He shrugged, "My parents owned a ranch. Lots of horses. I rode before I could walk." He looked past them to the animals, noting they weren't saddled. "Do you need me to saddle them?" he asked.

Sheppard's jaw finally closed. "If you're an expert," he asked, "then why did you ride in the wagon with McKay and Weir on the way to Garillion from the Gate?"

Travis shrugged, "Are you kidding? Eight to ten hours on horseback versus a cushioned wagon with food and drink? Which would you choose?"

Teyla arched an eyebrow at Sheppard, indicating her answer to that question. Elizabeth let loose a soft chuckle.

"Orrin," she said, "Like everyone else on this expedition, I don't think you people will ever stop surprising me." Travis grinned in reply, obviously pleased with the compliment.

Sheppard snorted, "Okay, Doctor Travis, yes...I'd love it if you saddled the horses for us."

"Meeners," Teyla corrected again.

"Meeners," Sheppard amended, gritting his teeth into a smile. He looked at the Athosian, "Take his place?"

Teyla nodded, moving to cover the door while Travis went to work on the horses.

Sheppard and Weir tried to aid him as best they could, but in the end, they clearly got in the way more than helped. After the first couple, the colonel and the expedition leader were more than happy to just watch.

It gave the colonel his first real chance to think since he'd started this rescue, and, as if mocking him, the faint nausea he felt from earlier, when he'd first left McKay, started to surface again. He raised a hand to touch at his radio again, the nausea rolling more thickly in his stomach...Maybe he wasn't too far away...Maybe he should just check...

"Colonel Sheppard," Teyla suddenly called from the entranceway, her eyes never leaving her watch on the outside, "Where is Doctor McKay?"

Sheppard froze, surprised at the almost telepathic nature of her statement.

Still, the question was obviously one the Athosian had wanted to ask for a long time. He could tell by the slow way she'd asked it, and the slightly lower tone of voice. He'd spent too much time with her now not to understand that she was incredibly worried, more so than her stoic demeanor pretended.

Elizabeth, who had been leaning against a wall near the colonel turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. She too wished to know. Where he was saddling his fourth meener, Travis also paused to listen.

Sheppard closed his eyes, and the nausea grew. He let out a slow exhale.

"Is he dead?" Elizabeth asked, her voice very soft. It trembled slightly.

"No," Sheppard said, opening his eyes and looking at the straw strewn earthen floor at his feet. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

He grimaced, then looked over at Teyla. She still wasn't looking at him, but he knew she was listening by the tilt of her head.

"He was shot through the leg," he said, his eyes never leaving the curve of the Athosian's jaw, watching as it tensed. "It bled...a great deal. We ran as far as we could, despite his wound. We were on foot for several hours before McKay wasn't able to go any further, collapsing into the ground. Lucky..." he swallowed, "Lucky for us, we came across a trader soon after, who, in exchange for a few items, was willing to watch McKay while I came back to rescue the rest of you."

Teyla shook her head a little at the story, and she finally looked over at Sheppard. "A trader? What kind of trader?"

"He was what we'd call a, uh, a traveling salesman," he answered. "He seems to live out of his wagon, mostly, going from world to world to trade whatever he can." He met Teyla's eyes evenly. "Have you ever heard of a man named Connam? Eric Connam?"

Teyla's lips parted slightly, then shut. She gave a slow nod. "Yes. I have met him...once or twice. But only fleetingly. He frequents many of the same markets as my people do." Her eyes narrowed, "I have never traded with him. He sells only...useless items. No necessities—just toys, pretty cloths, unreliable medicines, unusual technology and the like." She looked down, then away again, out the door. "However, he does have a reputation for being...mostly honest."

Sheppard gave a short laugh at that.

Elizabeth cleared her throat, watching John carefully, "And you trust this," she frowned, "Connam...to take care of Rodney?"

"No," Sheppard admitted. "He promised to watch Rodney. He didn't promise to take care of him, per se."

Her eyes narrowed, "But I thought you said Rodney...that he was wounded. Badly."

"He is." Sheppard took in a deep breath, then let it out. He looked over at Travis, and noticed the doctor had stopped moving. He frowned at him, "How's it going, Travis?"

"Oh," the doctor jumped a little, and immediately got back to work.

"John?" Elizabeth prompted.

Sheppard looked at her, then shook his head. "Fact is, Rodney can't be moved. He's lost a lot of a blood, Elizabeth. Best thing for him now is rest. Connam has taken him to a place where he can lie down. Sleep." He shrugged, "If I'd tried to get him all the way to the Gate, or brought him back here with me, I don't think he'd still be alive." He sighed. "I said we'd go back for him, but..."

"If we try to put him on a horse, it'd potentially make his wound worse," Elizabeth finished.

"Yes."

"What about finding a cart?" Teyla asked, her eyes still presumably tracking Ronon.

"At this point," Sheppard grimaced, "I don't even like the idea of him being on a rickety cart. The roads here are just dirt and wagon ruts. He can't take that much jarring."

"So," Elizabeth stood up and walked over to one of the horses, touching it gingerly, then more bravely as it leaned into her touch, "What you're saying is...a puddle jumper."

"Yeah," Sheppard said.

Teyla stiffened, turning her head so she could see them out of the corner of her eye.

"And," Elizabeth added, "I assume...it would be easier for us to get through the Gate without a wounded man." She looked at John, "Because we are going to have to fight our way home, yes?"

"Definitely," Sheppard agreed. "It'll be hard just getting you and Travis through."

"If we ride as fast as we can cross-country directly to the Gate," Elizabeth said, obviously thinking along the exact same lines as the colonel, "How long would it take us?"

Teyla turned to stare at them with wide eyes. "What are you saying?" she demanded. "We can not leave Doctor McKay."

Sheppard shook his head at her, "We're not talking about leaving anyone, Teyla." As he spoke, he could taste the bile on his tongue, as his soul continued to rebel against this line of thinking. He lifted his head, "What we're saying is, we go home first, get a puddle jumper, and return...with Beckett and a medical team. We fetch Rodney, and take him home."

Teyla just stared at him, as if he had two heads. She looked down, as if searching the floor for answers, then up again. Her eyes narrowed, "Then one of us should stay with him. Not leave him here alone. If he is, as you say, badly wounded, I assume he could die, yes? And if we're not there...?" She frowned, "Someone needs to be here to care for him. If you are right, Connam will not do it. Who knows how long it could take us to get past the guards on the Gate..." She lifted her chin, "Someone needs to stay. I am willing to do it."

Sheppard shook his head, feeling Elizabeth at his back, supporting him. "I'll need both you and Ronon to help me get through the Gate, Teyla. I'm guessing there will be a full troop of the King's man guarding it, and it'll be hard enough with just the three of us and both Travis and Elizabeth to protect."

Teyla blinked, then shook her head, "Then Doctor Travis? Or Doctor Weir? Perhaps one of them could stay—"

"I won't leave either one unprotected, Teyla, you know that. I can't send one of them off to be with Rodney unless I send one of you with them."

"But you would leave Doctor McKay alone?" she snapped back, her chin lifted.

"Rodney's safe," Sheppard stated firmly.

Teyla stared at him.

Aw hell.

She knew him as well as he knew her. She knew he was not certain what he had just said was true.

She shook her head, "I do not agree with this plan," she stated firmly. "My apologies, Colonel, you know that I normally do not disagree with you but—"

"Yes, you do," Sheppard interrupted, his tone dry. "You did when we were on Orrin's planet. Remember?" Travis perked up, hearing his name, but, glancing at Sheppard and Teyla, he knew that they weren't talking about him. Vaguely, he remembered the group or refugees the Colonel and Teyla had rescued from the planet the Wraith destroyed prior to reaching Atlantis.

Teyla's jaw set, then she nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "I did. And I do so now, for the same reason. Doctor McKay is a lot tougher than he looks, but he is fragile in other ways. We can fetch him now, borrow a cart or a wagon, and get him to the Gate with us. Doctor Weir and Doctor Travis can help him through, while Ronon, you and I take out the guards."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, "And if we fail to get through?"

"Then at least we will go down together," she replied.

The colonel swallowed, and turned his eyes away, looking again at Travis. For the second time, the doctor had paused in his work, but he quickly got back to work when Sheppard glared at him, saddling the last horse.

"Teyla," Elizabeth said, stepping around Sheppard, "I understand your conviction, I do. But," she clasped her hands before her, "I believe Colonel Sheppard's plan is a sound one. He is trying to do what is best for all of us, as a group, not just Rodney." She shook her head when Teyla frowned at her. "He made a valid point. Both Travis and I may be able to handle weapons, but we're not fighters. We will need all three of you to get us to the Gate and through. Plus, if all five of us try to get through the Gate, the greater the likelihood of one of us succeeding and bringing back the cavalry for Rodney." She gave a small smile, then looked down. "I know you're worried about him. Believe me, so am I. But he is probably the safest among us right now. So long as he stays hidden, he probably has a greater chance of staying that way." She looked up again, "We just have to believe that he will be okay until we can come back."

Sheppard was staring at the far wall now, not meeting anyone's eyes anymore.

Teyla continued to frown, then, abruptly, turned her head away to look outside.

Elizabeth sighed, closed her eyes, then looked up again.

"All set," Travis said suddenly, patting the last meener. "I'll just need to adjust the stirrups for each of you, after you climb on."

Elizabeth smiled at him, then looked at John.

The colonel saw her looking, and turned to meet her eyes.

"We'll make it home," she said to him, almost as if she were seeking confirmation. "And we'll come back for Rodney, guns blazing."

"I know," he said, quirking a weak smile. "We came up with this plan together, remember?"

She nodded, "Yes, just—"

"Don't worry," he said. "I agree with you."

Weir smiled genuinely at that, the expression lighting up her face. Sheppard's brow furrowed slightly, confused by the brightness of it, and watched as she nodded and turned away, walking over to check the saddle on the horse she'd chosen.

"What?" he asked, wanting to know the reason behind the smile.

"Oh, nothing," she replied, still smiling, though it was a little more sheepish now. "It's silly. It's not the right time to be thinking about such things."

The colonel's eyebrows lifted, "Not the right time to be thinking about what?"

Over by the door, Teyla looked back at the two of them, her expression dark still.

"Just," Weir shrugged, looking at Sheppard again, "for the first time," she smiled again, "I feel like we're on the same wavelength. That, uh," she made a motion with her hand to encompass the two of them, "we really are thinking the same way. Normally, I'm trying to stop you from following through on some crazy plan of yours and Rodney's, but this time..." she trailed off, her smile faltering when she realized what she had just said, the light in her eyes fading at the flat stare Sheppard was giving her. "Anyway," she turned back to the horse, "I think we've got ourselves a good plan. The best under the circumstances. And that we plotted it out together so easily..." Again, she shrugged. "It's nice..."

Sheppard's eyes narrowed, "to be on the same wavelength."

"Yes."

"Because normally I think one way, and you think another."

She nodded, patting her horses' flank. She glanced at Sheppard again, and found he was looking down, a stark grimace on his face.

Elizabeth's expression softened, assuming that his unhappiness stemmed from the main fact that they were, temporarily, leaving Rodney behind.

"We'll get home, John," she asserted suddenly, "and turn right back around with a jumper and get him. Carson will be with us, and we'll find him and bring him home. I'm sure of it." She stepped closer, tilting her head to see his face better, to encourage him to look up at her. "It's a good plan, John. In fact, it's a great plan."

Sheppard snorted, "Yes, well, it'll be a great plan if it works."

She touched his arm lightly, getting him to look up, and, in her most frank voice, repeated, "It's a great plan, John."

She was so earnest, that he had to smile. Then he shrugged, "Sure it is. Besides, as I said, you helped."

She smiled in gratitude at his acknowledgement. "Yes, well, you know what they say," she said cheekily, reaching to pat her horse again, "two heads are better than one."

"Ha," Sheppard snorted, chuckling. "It's a common misconception."

Over by the door, Teyla inhaled sharply, her hands tightening around the P90, drawing it closer to her chest as if hugging it.

Weir stopped moving, her hand resting on the meeners neck. Slowly, she turned, her eyebrows furrowed. Had that been a slight?

"What did you say?" she asked, her tone a little indignant.

What she found when she looked at the colonel was even more disturbing. Sheppard had frozen mid-motion, his eyes were wide and his face completely unmasked, showing everything he was feeling. His lips parted to release a slow exhale.

The man himself was at a loss. What the hell had possessed him to say that?

"Colonel Sheppard?" Weir asked again, her voice soft.

Like a jolt, the lightning quick argument he'd had with Rodney in the Brotherhood's underground temple ran through Sheppard's head. It was crystal clear in his memory—the puzzle in front of him, Kolya and his goons holding him and the others hostage, demanding they solve it in order to get the ZPM, Rodney at his shoulder...and the knowledge that, if Rodney and he didn't solve the puzzle, he'd likely die before they could execute their escape plan...

_Anytime you want to start...  
__I'm thinking, I'm thinking.  
__Alright...We tried...one to nine.  
__Thank you, yes.  
__Well, how about nine to one?  
__Look, possibly! Look, Pranes was right. The center stone is the only one that locks into place. All the others must move around it. I'm just trying to think of a combination that makes sense with five in the middle.  
__Fifteen! It's gotta have something to do with fifteen...or nine...or five...  
__Shut up, please? I'm trying to think!  
__I'm not going to shut up, Rodney. My life's at stake!  
__Exactly! So simmer down and let me save it!  
__Ever heard the term, two heads are better than one?  
__It's a common misconception!  
__Give me the gun. I'll shoot him myself!_

He looked at Weir, his eyes clear for the first time in what felt like months. "That...that two heads are better than one." Sheppard swallowed harshly. "It's a common misconception."

Elizabeth shook her head, "That's what I thought you said." Her eyes narrowed—she even looked a little hurt. "But I don't understand. What does it mean?"

"It means," Sheppard lowered his head, "that we're not on the same wavelength, Elizabeth. I'm sorry." He shook his head, "I just realized I can't go with you." He turned burning eyes to her, "I have to go get McKay."

And like that, the nausea was gone. He felt whole again.

———————————————————————

TBC...! There he is! About time, eh? LOL! And, because you have all been so incredibly sweet to me, I'm going to post one more chapter tonight. Three, instead of my usual two! Thank you so, so much!


	15. Chapter 15

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JAMES DEAN**

————————————————————

Connam poured the last jug of water into the truck, looking around despondently at their forest surroundings. The bells rang across the whole valley, echoing through the trees, and he knew exactly what they meant.

Rodney was wrapped tightly in a large blue blanket from the back, which he'd purchased by trading Connam his pen. Every so often, a sharp shiver would wrack his frame, but he rode it out. He seemed barely aware of anything at this point, staring out miserably from above the top of the blanket's edge.

The trader glanced at him, sighed, and finished pouring in the water. Setting the empty jug in the back, he then walked into the woods and looked around. After a moment, he saw what appeared to be a fairly stout stick and grabbed it, testing its strength and height.

Carrying it back to the wagon, he held it up.

The scientist's blue eyes shifted to the right, to see the stick.

"You can use it as a cane," Connam explained.

The slightest furrowing of the brow, then, slowly, the eyes closed.

"End of the road," Rodney whispered through the thick material.

"Yes, Doctor McKay," Connam shrugged. "I'm sorry. But by now, all the guardsmen in the valley will be looking for you and your friends in force. Those bells," he pointed vaguely upwards, "are telling them that there has been an escape. Your Colonel Sheppard was apparently successful. However, it also means I can't afford to have you with me any longer."

The eyes opened again, resigned. Without another word, Rodney slid sideways and, with Connam's help, somehow climbed down off the driver's bench. Taking the "cane" Connam offered, he leaned heavily on it and staggered back from the road and the wagon a few steps. He moved like an old man, hunched and barely on his feet.

Connam watched him for a moment, then turned and walked around the front of the wagon, climbing up onto the driver's bench. Grabbing the black pack McKay had left up there, he tossed it and the radio off the bench at McKay's feet.

"Thanks," McKay whispered, staring down at them. When he looked up again, he saw Connam watching him. The trader offered him his most self-assured smile.

"I'll deliver the messages, Doctor," he promised. "I don't go back on my deals."

McKay nodded. "I think I know that now," he whispered through the blanket's folds. "Thank you."

Connam smiled kindly, then turned on the engine, pumping the levers and the choke for a moment. The wagon suddenly lurched into motion, and Connam could no longer spare a hand or a glance for Rodney as the wagon rattled away at a brisk clip down the road, Dodge once more whinnying a bit in the back. The large dram really wasn't enjoying the ride.

McKay watched the wagon get smaller and smaller, then lowered his eyes to the forest floor. After a moment, he turned and looked behind him at the woods.

With a soft sigh, he bent down with a wince and gathered up the pack, throwing it over his shoulder and adjusting his blanket over it. Then he grabbed the radio and straightened, holding it close to his waist.

He stared at it a moment, thumb hovering over the talk button.

Then his shoulders slumped. With a resigned air, he drew the radio up closer to his body and limped into the woods, looking for a place to lie down.

——————————————————————

"This is ridiculous, John," Elizabeth said, pacing inside the barn as Travis adjusted the stirrups for Teyla, who was sitting astride her meener. Elizabeth looked pissed. The Athosian, however, was looking oddly pleased, as if something that had been bothering her for a long time had been repaired. Elizabeth tried not to be bothered by Teyla's expression as she repeated, "I don't understand."

"I know." Sheppard was pulling at the cinch on his saddle, tightening it, getting some of his frustration out on the buckle.

"But you just got through explaining to all of us why we need to hit the Gate together," she stressed. "And why we need to come back for Rodney, why we can't split up and—"

"I said," John snapped, turning to stare at her, "I know."

"Then why!" she demanded. "Explain it to me. I need to understand!"

He just stared at her for a moment, before turning to stare at the horse's flank again.

"Because," he said, his voice softening, "I'm not like you, Elizabeth. You see the bigger picture, watch out for the welfare of all, think on a grander scale...It's what makes you a great leader." He shook his head, "I don't. I think about people, individual people. I live in the moment, I always have. I don't believe in acceptable losses, or pyrrhic victories, or that one must die to save a thousand..."

"Unless it's you," Elizabeth whispered softly.

He didn't seem to hear her as he took in a deep breath, "I tried, though. I really did."

Elizabeth tilted her head, "Tried? Tried what exactly?"

"To be more like you. To think like the generals at war. To weigh the odds and work to minimize the risks. To treat everyone the same, to care for everyone the same. Hell," he gave a small smile, "even to delegate more authority." He was brushing at the meener's coat absently, obviously not really seeing the animal, "But I'm just not that kind of soldier."

Elizabeth set her jaw, then lowered her eyes, "No..." she looked up at him again, "I know you're not."

"I know leaving Rodney behind right now makes the most sense," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "but it's not me. I can't do it, Elizabeth. I can't leave him behind." He looked at her, "Because he wouldn't leave _me_ behind. Crazy at it sounds, Rodney and I are the ones who think the same way, Elizabeth. We're the ones on the same wavelength. You said it yourself--most of the time, you're the one trying to talk the two of us out of some crazy idea..." he turned back to his horse, "And I can't leave him behind, even knowing we'll come back for him. I just can't do it."

Weir stared at him, her eyes clear. Slowly, she nodded. "You're right," she said, anger coloring her voice. "You do think the same. You're both God damned kamikaze pilots. You always have to solve everything by yourselves, whether it's Rodney trying to fix everything that goes wrong with his own hands, nearly working himself to death, or you, flying off in a jumper to crash into a Wraith hive ship, or chasing after Ford by yourself when the Wraith are practically on top of us!" She sighed suddenly, taking in a deep breath, then shook her head. "It can drive me crazy," she whispered.

"I know," Sheppard said. It wasn't an apology. He was just stating fact.

Elizabeth glanced up at him, then down again. Suddenly, she gave a strange sort of laugh, shaking her head. "But I also know...that it's what makes both of you who you are," she admitted finally. With another deep sigh, she looked at him and shrugged. "And it's why you are both so good at what you do. And why I wouldn't trust what either of you do to anyone else."

He was watching her, brow furrowed. "So...does that mean...," he offered her a crooked smile, "that you're okay with this?"

She rolled her eyes, then smiled dryly back. "No," she said, "I'm not okay with it, but I accept you know what you're doing. You do what you have to do," she opened her hands, "Colonel."

Sheppard gave her a true grin, "In that case," he looked up at Teyla still astride her meener, "it means you're in charge of getting Travis and Elizabeth through the gate. You up for it?"

Teyla just gave him a confident nod.

"Wait," Elizabeth pressed an arm on John's sleeve, "Wouldn't it be easier for Ronon and Teyla if they only had Orrin to protect?"

John's brow furrowed, looking down at her hand, "What?"

"You said it yourself," she said, purposefully imitating him, "All three of you are needed to get both me and Orrin through the gate. However, if you're not there, it makes their job harder."

He quirked a smile at her, following her train of thought, then shook his head. "I need to get you home, Elizabeth."

"And you will," she said. "When we get Rodney home. Besides," she looked over at the meeners, "I'm not going to be able to ride that thing for hours on end. It'll kill me." She looked at John, "And didn't you say something on our way here about a...motorcycle?"

"A speedwheel," John corrected, smiling.

"Perfect," she said. "_That_ I can ride."

"But..."

"My Great Aunt Mattie had a motorcycle," Elizabeth mused, interrupting him. "She used to claim she rode with James Dean before he moved to L.A.." She shook her head as she walked away, to look out the door with Ronon, who was now kneeling on the threshold, watching the woods. "I never believed her though."

"Who is James Dean?" Teyla asked, curious as she jumped down from her meener.

"Next?" Travis called, looking towards Ronon.

——————————————————————

TBC...

(Tidia and Mog, hope you don't mind my borrowing Great Aunt Mattie from Spirits of Another Sort! Loved that story!)


	16. Chapter 16

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE GREAT ESCAPE**

———————————————————

They shook hands as they parted, both Ronon and Teyla having gotten into the habit by spending so much time around the folks from Earth, and Elizabeth hugged Travis.

"Think you've got the lay of the land?" Sheppard asked Teyla, watching as she mounted her meener with a grace the belied her discomfort. Behind her, Ronon was a little less graceful, and he also seemed to be a little too large for the beast he was riding, despite having chosen the largest one, but at least he got up there. Travis practically leapt into his saddle, the only one truly at ease.

"We won't get lost," Teyla promised, nodding down at the colonel. "It took us nearly eight hours to travel the distance on the way to Garillion, but I believe I can save us a good deal of time by cutting across the countryside. I hope to have us at the Gate in less than six hours." She smiled then and reached down, and he clasped her hand. "Take care of Doctor McKay," she said softly.

"I will," he promised. "We'll be waiting."

Teyla smiled, then tugged her meener around and nodded to Travis. The doctor had been giving them some horsemanship advice, but there was little else he could do now except keep watch on them. With a single deep breath, Teyla kicked her horse into action and took off, lifting herself up in the saddle as she'd been told, and taking the lead. Travis and Ronon quickly followed, and soon all three were lost in the thick trees.

"Right," Sheppard said, walking over to his meener, "our turn."

Elizabeth gave a great sigh, looking up at the horse in front of her as if looking up at the gallows. "How far to the speedwheel?"

"Not far from where I purchased these. A few miles. We'll send them home when we get there."

She gave another sigh, then, after a few aborted attempts, managed to get up into the saddle. Following John's lead, they were soon loping their way in a more northerly direction. He picked up speed, and, after perhaps only about twenty minutes or so, he was pulling rein.

Elizabeth was grateful, sliding off her horse and watching as he smacked the rumps of both beasts and sent them trotting away into the woods. With a smile to her, he stepped off the "road" into the forest and reached into a fairly dense bit of vegetation. With a grunt, he pulled out the motorcycle from its hiding place.

Weir's lips parted. Even knowing about it in advance, it still seemed amazing to see something so familiar looking. Sheppard pushed it back up onto the road then sat down on it.

"Get on," he ordered. She didn't need to be told twice. Settling in behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head against his back. "Hold on," he said unnecessarily as the engine roared to life.

Elizabeth emitted a tiny peep as the speedwheel lurched and then burst into speed, sending them flying down the dirt road, churning up mud and gravel in their wake.

———————————————————

McKay wasn't sure when he fell. He just ended up on the ground, half lying on his side, feeling the discomfort of his pack awkwardly sticking into his ribs and back. He had been trying to find a fairly sheltered place to settle down—but apparently his body decided right out in the open, on a bed of wet, dirty leaves, and halfway up an uphill slant, was good enough.

With a grunt, he managed to get the pack out from under him and somehow managed to keep most of the blanket in place. Without the boiling heat of the engine at his back, his body temperature seemed to plummet, though he could feel heat radiating beneath the bandage on his stomach. He couldn't understand how he could be both freezing and hot at the same time.

He settled more on his side, adjusting to the rocks and sticks and leaves under him, and curled into a ball, cocooning himself in the blanket. The radio he held close to his chin, as a child would a stuffed toy.

And, with a sigh, he closed his eyes and let the world slip away.

———————————————————

Connam slowed, recognizing the landmarks around him with a keen eye. Pulling to the side, he knew he'd be on the main road running along the length of the valley in a couple of miles, then it was just another ten miles or so to the Gate. He'd love to drive all the way up to it, but did not want to push the engine nor draw too much attention to himself.

With a grimace, he shut the engine off and climbed down. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to wrestle the steering column free and carried it around to store in the back. He could feel the heat rising off the wagon as he circled it, just as he felt the stickiness of his shirt sticking to his back. Even the cool weather of the morning in the valley wasn't helping.

The sun had finally reached the valley floor, flooding everything in a golden glow. The forest seemed less menacing, the shadows less frightening. The bells had stopped ringing as well, their message delivered, and, for a moment, Connam felt pretty good with his life.

Coming around the back of the wagon, he stopped when he smelt the mess.

Dodge turned her huge head and looked at him balefully.

She really hadn't liked the ride, and had let him know in her own special way.

"Lights above, Dodge," he muttered, backing away from the smell, "Was this absolutely necessary?"

If possible, the dram appeared chagrined. Connam sighed, shaking his head and bravely stepping forward again.

"You're making up for this," he warned her, gingerly undoing the straps across the back of the wagon, touching the dripping material as little as possible. "You so are. You get a free ride, and how do you repay me?"

With a sigh, he climbed inside, dodging the mess, and pulled her out.

She jumped out joyfully, shaking and prancing and ready to move.

"Your parents were so much better behaved," he chastised, grabbing at her reins and pulling her around the front.

As soon as he had her hooked up, he grabbed a broom and swept as much of the back as he could. At the very least, it would stop the guards at the Gate from looking too carefully.

———————————————————

Travis called a few extra comments from time to time, trying to help Teyla and Ronon as they kept up their breakneck pace. Teyla continued to lead, gritting her teeth and trying to both steer her meener and not fall off at the same time…which turned out to be an all encompassing job. The meener itself seemed to care very little about the small woman on its back, even though it responded to her constant press for more speed. She was fairly sure it'd throw her off at the first sign of trouble, which wasn't encouraging.

Ronon appeared a little more comfortable, but not by much. His ability to intimidate people apparently didn't translate to ram-horned meeners.

In the end, both amateurs were relying mostly on Travis to watch the woods for danger.

Teyla just hoped their speed would make up for their inability to scout.

———————————————————

Sheppard gunned the motor on the speedwheel, barely aware of Elizabeth's white-knuckled grip on his vest, intent only on getting them to that cleft in the rocks as soon as possible. The speedwheel screamed around corners, skidding on the loose rocks and wet grass, exploding over every dead branch and stick in the road, and leaving kindling in its wake. And still he pushed it to go faster.

He had to get to McKay.

"Can you use the radio?" he yelled back at Weir.

She gave a small whimper. She was terrified of letting go. John's control of the speedwheel seemed tentative at best, and she had begun to think that, perhaps, the meeners were not so bad…

"Elizabeth?" he yelled again.

"I…," she steeled herself, and reached up to grab the radio on his shoulder. Just then, they hit a fairly hard bump, causing them to be airborne for a few seconds, and Weir's hands renewed their grip on the vest. She was amazed she didn't scream. Or maybe she did, and she just didn't remember.

She was in hell.

"Elizabeth! The radio!" Sheppard yelled again.

"Yes, yes," she replied, mostly to herself, trying not to focus on the scenery blurring dizzyingly past or the burning rubber smell of the pushed to the limit motorcycle. She reached up with her hand again, for the radio on his shoulder. When she couldn't loosen it from its pocket, partly because she was afraid she'd drop it, she shook her head and yelled back, "No. I can't reach it!"

"Try!"

"You're going too fast!"

Sheppard glowered, but slowed. Elizabeth felt the change of pace with relief and, as soon as she felt more secure, she reached to grab the radio again. This time, she was successful. Pulling one arm free of its almost chokehold on the colonel, she lifted the radio to her mouth and hit the talk button. Her arm shook—she hadn't realized just how scared she was until the adrenaline hit.

"Rodney!" she yelled into the radio, trying to be heard over the noise of the engine. "Rodney, can you hear me? This is Weir! Please respond!"

She released her hold on the talk button and pressed the radio to her ear. Static answered her. Frowning, she tried again.

"Rodney!"

"Try Connam," Sheppard said.

"Connam!" she yelled into the radio. "Connam! Please respond! If you can hear me, please respond!"

Again, nothing but static.

Her heart felt like a stone inside her chest, and she tried once more. "RODNEY!"

The silence on the other end felt like a censure.

She leaned into John, talking right into his ear. "Are we still too far away?"

Sheppard grimaced, but didn't answer that question. Instead, he shouted, "Just hang on to it. We'll try again in a bit!"

"How far are we?" she yelled.

"We'll be there in an half an hour!" he yelled back. "Just hang on!"

And Elizabeth yelped as he once more gunned the engine, sending them hurtling down the road once more.

She was using every calming trick in her arsenal to stop herself from thinking that he was going to kill them both on this thing.

———————————————————

The radio burst to life in Rodney's hands, and Elizabeth's shout came through despite the heavy static.

"_Rodney_!" she sounded impossibly far away. "_Rodney, can you hear me? This is Weir! Please respond_!"

The fingers wrapped around the black transmitter didn't move.

"_Rodney_!"

The eyelids didn't shift. The long lashes never lifted.

"_Connam_! _Connam_! _Please respond_! _If you can hear me, please respond_!"

Near Rodney's head, a small vole like animal stuck its head out of a hole in the ground, and sniffed at the unconscious man lying there. The man was breathing very shallowly, but otherwise didn't move at all.

"_RODNEY_!"

But he was beyond hearing.

———————————————————

TBC...


	17. Chapter 17

(And this one's my favorite. It's a little long for one chapter, but I didn't have the heart to break it up)

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: BEST LAID PLANS**

——————————————————————

Teyla sensed them before she saw them, and, with a vicious wrench, managed to send the meener in a different direction.

Behind her, Travis was about to call a question as to why she'd changed direction when he heard the shouting.

Wide eyed, the doctor looked over his shoulder to his left…and saw a group of men on horseback, bearing down on them. They were the ones shouting. He could easily make out their demands to "stop!"

Oh crap, Travis thought, pulling out his 9MM and releasing the safety, this isn't good.

Behind the doctor, Ronon risked letting one hand go from its tight grip on his reins and pointed his weapon in the direction of the guardsmen. The shot went crazily wild, exploding into a tree about five feet from the nearest man. Still the power of the weapon was not lost on the guardsmen, and they slowed a little in caution.

The three escapees pressed on deeper into the woods.

——————————————————————

The speedwheel exploded into the small clearing before the shack, careening on an angle and skidding to a stop just feet from the front door, mud flying everywhere. Elizabeth practically fell off the back, just grateful not to be moving. Sheppard kicked the stand and jumped off, barely looking at her as he charged into the structure.

Still not quite having her legs under her, she followed him in, her eyes looking around the simple rustic main room. With the eye of one who had spent many summers camping with her family, she noted the still dying embers in the fireplace and the slightly off center placement of the chairs, as if someone had spent the night sleeping in front of it. She could also tell they'd probably been gone for hours.

Sheppard was in the backroom, staring down at the empty cot. Turning, he looked at her—he almost looked betrayed.

"Are you sure this is the place?" she asked softly.

Sheppard didn't answer, storming back out of the room, his eyes examining it for evidence of McKay's having been here. With a growl when he wasn't successful, he stormed past Elizabeth to the outside, looking over the grounds.

Elizabeth sighed and walked over to the fireplace, tilting her head to look at the embers.

"Oh," she whispered, spotting something that had been burned that was obviously not wood. She grabbed a poker from next to the fire and, kneeling, moved the embers about until the object was revealed.

Part of a bandage. A blood soaked bandage. Military issue.

With a sigh, she stood up, replaced the poker, and headed outside to find John.

She found him standing about halfway across the clearing in the direction of the cart-track they had ridden in on. He was staring at the ground…at a mess of tar and oil.

"This is definitely the place," she informed him as she reached his side. "I found part of a bandage in the ashes."

Sheppard just nodded, accepting this. He had known already. The backroom, though it had been cleaned, had still smelled like blood. He just hadn't wanted to tell Elizabeth that. "This is odd," he said instead, gesturing at the ground.

Elizabeth studied it for a moment, then asked, "Did Connam have another vehicle of some kind stored on his wagon?"

"No," Sheppard answered. "At least," he frowned, "I don't think so."

"In any event," she sighed, looking around the clearing, "if they were here, they're not here now."

The colonel gave an irritated growl, and grabbed at his radio again.

"McKay," he snapped into the transmitter. "McKay! Rodney!" His eyes narrowed as he looked down the empty road, "Answer me, you son of a bitch. Why aren't you at Connam's shack? Where the hell are you!"

Elizabeth bit her lip, also staring down the same road.

"McKay!" John bellowed the name, letting it echo off the hills. "Damn it, Rodney, I know you can hear me! Respond!"

Weir closed her eyes, feeling the frustration and anger that rolled off Sheppard in waves.

He gripped the radio tighter. "I'm not letting you do this, you hear me?" he yelled into it. "You're not dying on me. We're here! Where the hell are you! Answer me!"

"_Colonel!"_ Teyla's voice burst over the radio, causing both Sheppard and Elizabeth to jump. "_Colonel, do you read me?" _Her voice echoed and the sound was weak, but they could easily tell she was yelling on her end.

Sheppard put the radio to his lips again, "Teyla?"

"_Colonel, we are in trouble. We…."_ She trailed off, and for a second, they could hear the faint sounds of gunfire. "_We are being boxed in! We are going to try and…Ronon!"_

"Teyla!" Sheppard met Elizabeth's wide eyes, matching the worried look in them with one of his own.

"_Colonel,"_ Teyla's voice was more faded now, "_Ronon has been shot! Doctor Travis has his meener's reins, but I'm afraid we…."_

And abruptly, the sound cut out.

They waited a second longer, then Sheppard raised the radio again. "Teyla?"

Silence was the only answer.

"Teyla!" he gripped the radio tightly, his eyes staring vaguely in the direction of the mountains on the far side of the valley. "Damn it!"

He lowered the radio, practically crushing the tough plastic in his grip, and turned his gaze to stare at the ground.

"They may just be out of range," Elizabeth tried, trying not to feel as useless as she did at that moment. She hadn't felt this out of control since the Wraith had attacked Atlantis.

Sheppard looked over at her, saw her waiting for him to tell her what to do. She was out of her element here.

"Come on," Sheppard said, pivoting on his heel and striding back towards the speedwheel.

She grimaced a little, but quickly ran to catch up. "Where are we going?"

"Well, I don't know where Teyla and the others are, but, if they're not already dead, they'll probably be taken back to the Citadel first, for a reckoning. So," he frowned, "we're going back there." He sat astride the bike and kicked up the stand, tilting it upright.

"What about Rodney?" Weir asked, sitting down behind him.

"I don't know where he is either. If I can't find him, I can't help him." Sheppard's jaw clenched.

"Perhaps we should still try to get to the Gate?" Elizabeth asked, flinching a little as the colonel started the motor.

"Just the two of us?" he said incredulously. "We'd never make it."

"Are you sure? What if there aren't that many guards?"

Sheppard looked at her over his shoulder, "If I thought it wouldn't be heavily guarded, I'd probably agree. But I have a feeling it will be. Me and you…we wouldn't stand a chance."

She sighed, "But we have a chance at rescuing the others?"

"Better than getting through the gate. We escaped from the Citadel once before," he got them moving, and Elizabeth tightened her arms around his waist, "we can do it again."

——————————————————————

Teyla grimaced, feeling like every muscle in her body had been ripped in half by the fall she had taken. One moment, she'd been talking to Sheppard on the radio, and then next her meener had thrown her, sending her flying into a bush. She was aware, as she mentally catalogued all the bruises, welts and sores on her body, that she was damn lucky she hadn't broken anything, but she knew she'd feel this hurt for a while.

If, that is, they weren't killed. In which case, she wouldn't be feeling it for long at all.

Travis grunted as he was slammed down onto his knees next to Teyla. He lifted his hands behind his head, imitating the posture they had forced Teyla into when they dragged her from the bush.

Part of Teyla wished he had ridden on—she was fairly certain he could have out-ridden the guardsmen—but the scientist clearly did not even consider it. Instead, he had immediately pulled up short, mouth agape, staring helplessly at Teyla as she crawled out of the bushes she'd been thrown into. She regretted his timidity, but could not fault it. He was not a soldier.

"You okay?" he asked her softly, trying to see her face through the thick, leaf strewn hair covering it.

She just offered him a fierce look and then focused on not throwing up.

Ronon was dumped next to Travis, and the scientist instinctively moved to try and help the semi-conscious man. The guards had gotten damn lucky, creasing the former runner's skull with a bullet--it was probably the only place they could have hit the man and incapacitated him without killing him outright. Of course, Ronon was probably even more lucky…he wasn't dead.

"Don't move," a guard growled at Travis, "get your hands back on your head."

"But he needs help," the scientist pleaded. "Please, let me just—"

"Did I say you could speak?" the guard asked, crouching down to stare at Travis nose to nose.

Travis may not have been field trained, but he wasn't stupid. He shook his head to say no.

"Good. Now, about your friend," the guard stood up and walked over to Ronon. "I'm afraid he won't be getting any medical help anytime soon. The best I can offer him is a new necktie. In fact," he smiled back at Travis, "I think Commander Chanee is looking forward to tying it on himself."

Travis winced, cowering a little as the huge man taunted him. Teyla watched it all out of the corner of her eye, trying not to seem dangerous.

The guard walked back and knelt in front of the scientist again, "Now…where are the others?"

"I don't know," he whispered. The guard immediately slapped him, hard.

Travis's eyes watered in pain. Oh yeah, he was a long way from his cushy office when he was a patent attorney.

"Where are the others?" the guard asked again. This time, though, he withdrew a knife and pressed it against the underside of Teyla's chin.

Travis licked his lips, shaking his head. "No, please….We split up. They went a different way. I don't know where they are now. Please."

The guard's eyes narrowed, "Split up?"

"To try and throw you off, you know?" Travis explained. "In case one of us got caught. The others could still try and get to the Gate."

The guard watched him, then tilted his head, "In order to bring back help."

Travis nodded, "Yes."

Teyla had turned her head, and was staring unhappily at the babbling scientist. Secretly, though, she was impressed that Travis was managing to tell the guards nothing they probably had already guessed.

"So, what, they're on the other side of the valley?"

"I don't know," Travis begged. "Please, I don't. Probably, but I don't know."

The guard stared at the young man for a moment, then sighed. With a sneer, he lowered the knife from Teyla's neck and stood up. He stared at both Travis and her for a moment before looking at the other guards.

"Take them back to the Citadel," he ordered.

——————————————————————

"Hyah! Gee up!"

Connam tried to appear nonchalant as he rolled up to the troop guarding the Stargate. There had to be at least twenty or twenty five guardsmen here, patrolling the area around the ring. Several had their rifles trained on him as he nervously continued forward, snapping the whip to keep Dodge moving.

"Stop!" one of the guards ordered. "Hold it right there, trader!"

Connam swallowed, put on his best smile, and tugged on the reins to get Dodge to stop.

"Hey boys," he greeted, "What's going on?"

"Hands in the air," the same guard ordered, stepping closer, his rifle pointed at Connam's head. "Sir, there are no travelers being allowed through the Gate. You need to turn your wagon around...now."

——————————————————————

Elizabeth had her head buried again in John's back, her arms once more locked around his vest, and her mind praying up to whatever deities may be listening that they didn't die on this thing.

The speedwheel shot down the rutted road at a crazy speed, the rubber tires slipping and sliding, scarring the dirt-pack. Sheppard seemed to have no care at all as he hit dips and rises without slowing, sending them flying more times than Elizabeth could count. She was amazed they were still upright, and that her jarred bones hadn't been turned to jelly.

Suddenly, John swore and braked hard, sliding Elizabeth forward onto the seat into his back. The colonel put his foot to the ground and swiveled the rear of the bike around, mud and grass and rocks erupting in a spray behind them. Elizabeth looked up, turning her head to the side to see what had caused his change of direction.

"Oh God," she whispered, seeing the troop of guardsman on meeners barreling down the road in their direction. "What are we…."

She never got to finish the question as John suddenly roared the engine again and sent them flying sideways off the road into the woods over the wide drainage ditch. A scream was swallowed in her throat as, for a long stretch of a moment, she felt as if she were weightless.

Then the bike slammed painfully into the rolling ground, dead leaves flying everywhere, and shot forward, sliding in and out of trees like a skier on a slalom run. Elizabeth watched with wide eyes as behind them the horsemen changed course, the meeners they rode leaping gracefully off the road over the drainage ditch and after them.

The speedwheel's progress was slowed by the rougher terrain, as Sheppard was forced to go around fallen trees and large exposed roots and avoid potholes that would send them both flying to their deaths at this speed.

"Hang on!" he yelled unnecessarily, gunning the engine to even greater speeds and shooting them at an angle away from their pursuers.

But the terrain worked against them. They weren't traveling much faster than the meeners themselves now, and when Elizabeth looked behind her, she saw that the guardsmen were keeping up easily, the beasts they rode far more suited to this terrain and their knowledge of it much greater.

"CRAP!" Sheppard shouted, braking hard again and twisting the bike. Elizabeth felt herself lifted off the seat, but she somehow avoided losing it completely as Sheppard sent them flying at an almost ninety degree angle to their previous course. They were headed almost directly for the mountains now, straight up the side of the bowl of the valley.

More guardsmen had appeared in the woods in front of them, boiling out of the trees, yelling orders at them to stop. Where the hell were they all coming from?

Elizabeth was shaking now, her fingers numb where they held onto him for dear life, while, behind her, she heard the report of rifle-fire. A risked glance over her shoulder showed they were gaining.

"Go faster!" she screamed.

"I'm trying!" he shouted back, riding up what looked like a goat track, aiming to get over the small ridge he could see in front of them. He hoped to gain momentum on the other side, maybe even see a way out. He pushed the trembling bike for even more speed, fighting the wind and the steepening grade, until they exploded up over the ridge's edge.

And suddenly, the ground fell away. The ridge wasn't a ridge--it was the top of a massive, twelve foot high boulder that fell away abruptly like a cliff, and below was a thick, roiling mountain stream, rushing unevenly down towards the central river. They flew off of the rock, their height bringing them almost above the deciduous trees on the other side of the stream.

This time Elizabeth did scream. She couldn't stop it. Her voice just burst from her lungs, rising as she did, off the seat and into the open air.

Vaguely, she felt Sheppard's vest leave her fingers as she lost her hold, but nothing else seemed tangible as the world became a blurred cascade of colors. They came down fast and hard from their impressive leap, gravity driving them towards the ground with seemingly impossible force.

The bike hit the earth on the far side of the stream, bounced twice, fell on its side and crashed seat first into a tree. The engine died with a fit and a sputter, the wheels spinning uselessly in their sockets.

Sheppard and Elizabeth both landed on the soft dirt and meadow-thick grass on the far side of the stream, rolling sideways with the momentum of their fall--Sheppard towards the speedwheel and Elizabeth in the other direction.

Groaning and in pain, Sheppard somehow managed to get back to his feet almost immediately, scrambling half crouched up the soft stream bank, reaching for the speedwheel. He grabbed the handlebars and lifted it up with a yell of desperation, feeling every muscle in his body screaming at him, then turned to look behind him.

Elizabeth was sitting up, trying gamely to get to her feet despite shaking so hard she thought she would split in two. Tears ran down her mud-caked face as she looked back at Sheppard, then turned to look up behind her at the top of the boulder they'd just leapt off from. When she finally got her feet under her, she was cradling her arm to her chest, and blood ran down from a nasty graze on her right leg.

The ground shook and trembled, and, in moments, guardsmen were stopped atop the rock, staring down at them.

Sheppard gamely tried to get the speedwheel's engine to turn over, but it just spluttered and died.

He stopped trying when he looked up to find more guardsmen on horses in front of him, rifles raised.

"Twisted and trapped," he whispered, Rodney's all too prophetic words coming back to him.

God he hated it when Rodney was right.

——————————————————————

TBC...Yeah...I enjoyed writing that! Can you tell? LOL! I love that speedwheel!


	18. Chapter 18

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: GETTING THROUGH**

——————————————————————

"Look," Connam smiled, "young man, I'm afraid I can't just turn this around and head home. This isn't my home. Perhaps if you told me what the matter is?" He lifted his eyebrows as he regarded the men holding him hostage--they looked as if they wanted to skin him alive. "This is…rather daunting, you know."

"Connam!" someone called suddenly from off to the side. It sounded strangely cheerful. "Hey, let him through! Connam!"

The trader turned his head, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw one of the usual guards who maintained a watch on the Gate jogging towards him. Mick waved, and Connam waved back.

The guard who had detained him stepped back, and Connam clicked his tongue at Dodge, getting her to move forward. In moments, he wasn't far from the DHD, jumping off the wagon to greet his friend.

Mick grasped his hand firmly, then went to pet Dodge's neck. The massive dram ignored him completely, her head going down to eat at the grass at her feet.

"How's it going, Dodge," the guard asked, not bother in the least. "Connam treating you well, is he?"

"Hell, you should see what she did to the back of my wagon," the trader replied. "That should answer your question."

Mick laughed, looking towards the wagon, then back at Connam. "You're heading off world, I take it?"

"That's the plan, Mick," the trader replied. "Done with my business here, and late for an appointment elsewhere. Hoping I could get through without too much fuss."

"Oh, not to worry," the guard said. He gestured at a couple of men to join him, one of whom Connam also knew, a short man named Les.

"Boys want to give my old friend's wagon here a good shake down? Then we can get him on his way?"

The two guards nodded and moved over to start searching the wagon. Connam sighed.

"Be careful," he called, wincing a little as they moved stuff around. "I've valuable merchandise in there!"

"So, Connam," Mick leaned on Dodge as two other guardsmen gingerly made their way through the trader's wagon, "you see any escapees on the way here?" The man laughed as if he'd made a joke, and Connam pretended a sudden comprehension.

"Ah!" he said, "Is that what all this is for!"

"Yup," the guard scratched at a shoulder under his uniform, "We got word there are at least six dangerous off-worlders running around the valley. Should be interesting to see how long they can dodge two full regiments of the King's men. That's nearly two hundred men…and this valley isn't that big." He laughed again.

"Wow, just for six people? Must be pretty special." Connam leaned his head to the side, watching as one of the guards jumped off and looked at the underside of the wagon.

"I think they pissed off the Commander," Mick explained with a wink, leaning with Connam to take in the same view when the guard inspecting the underneath gave a small whistle.

"Find anything, Les?"

"No people," Les replied, turning to look at them where he was half kneeling in the dirt. "But this is a very unusual wagon, Connam," he noted, a wry smile on his face.

"Yes, it is," the trader said proudly. "Should see her when I get her fixed properly. And I am going to get her fixed."

Mick grinned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. "I'm sure you will. So," he indicated the gate behind him with a nod of his head, "When do you think you'll be back this way again?"

Connam shrugged, "Oh, not long. Von Luger needs some parts for that piece of crap harvester of his, and the Arlettas want me to bring them some Calistian silk to make their daughter a wedding dress."

"Little Cassie?" the guard looked surprise, "She's getting married?"

The trader nodded, "Apparently. And she's not so little anymore, Mick."

The guard laughed, gripping his friend's shoulder. "No, I suppose she ain't."

"We're all set here," Les said, brushing some dirt off his knees and walking over. "Go ahead on out, Connam."

The trader grinned and gave them a mock salute, then headed to the DHD. For a second, he mentally pictured the address Doctor McKay had given him, then started inputting it into the device. Within moments, the wormhole was established and he walked back to gather Dodge's reins, glancing behind her to make sure she was still securely tied to the wagon. With a final nod to the guards watching him, he said goodbye to Mick and then tugged Dodge along up the ramp to the Gate. Mick and Les waved as Connam stepped through.

A moment's disorientation, and Connam found himself stepping into a lovely green meadow, surrounded on all sides by a healthy set of fir trees. Not far, he could see snow capped mountains lit by the sun. The air was nippier here, but still pleasant.

No one greeted him, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he realized he could see no structures of any kind.

"Hello!" he called, pulling Dodge further forward so that he was in the middle of the meadow. Behind him, the wormhole disengaged. "Hello! Anyone home? I've a message for you!"

"Don't move!" a man's voice challenged. "Hands in the air!"

Connam turned, raising up his arms as ordered, and gave his most charming smile to the four very well armed soldiers stalking him from behind. They were indeed dressed like the Colonel and Doctor McKay, which gave the trader some relief.

"Hi!" he greeted, purposefully not looking at the weapons, then letting his smile fall to take on a more serious air. "My name is Eric Connam. I've an urgent message from Doctor McKay for a Colonel Caldwell." He pointed to his chest, and he focused on the closest soldier to him. "Listen, Doctor McKay, Colonel Sheppard and the others are in great danger. There isn't much time." He lowered his hands a little. "May I give you the message? It's in my breast pocket."

The soldier nodded, and, lowering his weapon slightly, stepped forward. Connam quickly pulled the two pieces of paper out and handed the one he couldn't read to the soldier.

The other three men didn't lower the weapons on the trader, though they watched as the soldier quickly scanned the note.

"I also am supposed to ask for a Doctor Simpson," Connam said to him. "She's to help me fix my wagon? I have that on this note, here." He waved the other one still in his hand.

The soldier glanced up at him, then clicked the radio on his jacket. "Doctor Simpson, this is Sergeant Stackhouse. Please report to the Gate area and get the gentleman that's here anything he wants to fix his wagon. Sir," the soldier nodded to Connam, "Thank you. Wilmington," Stackhouse spun around, looking at a tall, dark haired solder near the DHD, "Dial home."

The soldier was already on it, while Stackhouse stepped into Connam's line of sight to block his view of the DHD and the address Wilmington was dialing. The trader gave a weak smile, then turned around when he heard noises behind him.

A couple of people, a man and a shorter blond woman emerged from a path between the trees. The woman, apparently, was Doctor Simpson. She looked slightly annoyed as she approached, but also curious.

Behind him, the wormhole engaged, and Connam listened as Stackhouse spoke rapidly into his radio.

"Colonel Caldwell, this is Sergeant Stackhouse at the Alpha Site. Please respond."

And, in reply, a man's gruff voice replied clearly over the link. "_Go ahead, Sergeant."_

Stackhouse grimaced as he spoke, not hiding his worry. "I have a man here who has an urgent message from Doctor McKay, sir. It sounds like they're in trouble."

"_In trouble? What kind of trouble?"_

"I'm not sure, sir. But I have a note here which I think you should read."

_"Are you sure it's from Doctor McKay, Sergeant?_"

"Yes, sir," Stackhouse stated, then allowed himself a small smile. "It's in French."

There was a pause, then a brief chuckle. "_All right, Sergeant. Come on through._"

——————————————————————

The Canadian tech at the console in the Gateroom translated the message quickly, telling Caldwell everything he needed to know. The colonel tapped his radio.

"Caldwell to the Daedalus," he called, "Sergeant Weathers, you there?"

"_Yes, sir."_

"Weathers, how long will it take us to get to…." He looked at the tech.

"P3V-335," the tech supplied.

"P3V-335," Caldwell said over the radio.

There was a brief pause, then, _"An hour and ten minutes, sir._"

"Then I want the Daedelus prepped and ready to go fifteen minutes ago."

"_Yes, sir."_

"Sergeant," Caldwell turned to look at Stackhouse, "Well done. Report to the jumper bay; you're on the rescue detail." He reached up and tapped his radio again, "Major Lorne, Doctor Beckett."

_"Yes, sir?"_ Lorne's voice replied over the radio.

"_Beckett here,_" Carson's voice chimed in.

"Major, you and your team report to the Jumper Bay immediately; Sergeant Stackhouse will meet you there and fill you in. I need a jumper through the Gate and over to P3V-335 now to run recon on a rescue detail. SGA-1, Doctor Weir and Doctor Travis are in trouble."

"_Hell,_" Beckett said, "_What kind of trouble? Is anyone hurt?"_

"We received a short message from Doctor McKay stating that Ronon Dex is hurt, and that the others may be too. In addition, there was blood on the paper, so I would assume Doctor McKay is also hurt. I want you to prep two full medical teams, one for the jumper, one for the Daedalus. Can they be ready to go in fifteen minutes?"

"_Aye. I'll meet Major Lorne in the Jumper Bay in ten. Jackson and Biro will head up the team on the Daedalus; they'll be there in fifteen._"

"Good, Major, you got that?"

"_Yes, sir,_" Lorne affirmed.

"Good. I'll contact you as soon as I get to the Daedalus, but you are good to go asap." Caldwell tapped the radio one more time, watching as Stackhouse jogged to the stairs and started taking them two at a time to get up to the Jumper Bay. "Major Larabee."

A different voice answered this time, one of a rougher quality, "_Yes, sir?_"

"Major Lorne and I are needed on a rescue mission on P3V-335. You're in charge until we return. Report to the Gateroom."

"_Be there in five minutes, sir_."

Caldwell nodded and tapped his radio one more time, "Daedalus?"

"_Yes, sir,"_ Sergeant Weathers voice replied.

"I'm on my way."

"_Yes, sir."_

Caldwell gave the lieutenant watching over the Gateroom a salute, then turned and headed out the door.

——————————————————————

TBC...


	19. Chapter 19

(this one's going up a bit early, since I might be out tonight...if I make it back in time, I'll post the next chapter too...Thank you again for all the great reviews! Oh, and Evilclone...one at a time, my friend. If I try to do more than one, and I never finish anything! LOL!)

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY: BEATING THE DRUM**

—————————————————————

Sheppard and Elizabeth were forced to share a meener as they were herded back towards the Citadel, neither feeling near well enough to really make the ride. Luckily, the guards were equally interested in the speedwheel and were determined to bring it along, slowing their progress some as it was dragged on a travois behind one of the meeners.

Elizabeth sat behind the colonel, resting her woozy head on his back, letting him keep her upright. Her arm throbbed like it was broken, and she was holding it close to her chest, tucked in between him and her. The colonel, meanwhile, found his right knee was ballooning to an impressive size, and he could barely feel his right foot. He also felt the distinct pain of a wrenched back and neck, and his eyesight had a bad habit of blurring, giving him moments of dizziness.

Beckett was going to kill him when they got back.

And, _yes_! he snapped at the part of him that gave a disbelieving snort, he did mean _when _and not _if_.

When they emerged from the trees back onto the road, Sheppard looked up at the mountains, judging their location. With a self-deprecating smirk, he realized he had managed to eat up quite a lot of distance on the speedwheel before they were caught, getting him and Elizabeth most of the way back to the Citadel. They couldn't be far from the farm where he'd bought the meeners.

Someone had also obviously ridden on ahead, because a handful of men met them on the road with a cart, probably purchased from the same undiscriminating farmers. The speedwheel was quickly loaded up onto it.

With that, they started to make better time. At this rate, Sheppard figured, they'd be back in Garillion by 11:00 or thereabouts.

So…the hanging would proceed almost on schedule.

How fantastic for Commander Chanee.

—————————————————————

Teyla glanced over at Ronon on the meener next to her, disliking the way he had been slung over the back of the meener like a pack of feed. At least he was unconscious. Part of her wished she had been as well—her ears were ringing, her head felt like a dozen meeners were stampeding through it, and she was having trouble catching her breath. Every inhalation hurt. The result being that she was breathing shallowly, and it was doing odd things to her equilibrium. The rocking, uneven gate of her meener wasn't helping much either.

Gritting her teeth, she did her best to show none of this to their captors.

Riding on the other side of Ronon, occasionally reaching over to steady him, or perhaps just to check that the big man was still breathing, Travis looked a little like the smallest noise would set him off. Teyla would have called over some encouraging words, but she couldn't seem to muster any up.

Instead, she just watched the head of her meener bob up and down as it walked, the massive curling horns rather beautiful now that she was able to get a better look at them. Almost like the shells on the coast of Atlantis' mainland...

Which felt very, very far away from here.

—————————————————————

On the other side of the valley, the guards next to the Stargate were quickly mobilizing, getting into a defensive positions as the Stargate suddenly came to life. Rifles were pointed at the potential threat, every man and woman there hoping beyond hope that, whatever was coming through, it was not Wraith.

The wormhole engaged, and for a moment, no one breathed.

Suddenly, something long and box like flew through the gate at a high rate of speed, and the guards ducked down, afraid it would land on them and crush them, whatever it was. Heads were covered, and prayers were said as everyone cowered or dove into the earth to avoid being hit or worse, scooped up.

But nothing happened.

Mick peeked out from behind his cover, and then stood, looking around at the empty sky. The wormhole disengaged.

What the hell?

—————————————————————

Not far from the Stargate, Doctor Rodney McKay was as still as death, only the barest hint of respiration showing he was still among the living.

The radio was just as silent, tucked in his hands near his chin.

The blanket he had bought remained around his shoulders and body, making him an oddly shaped, light blue lump on the otherwise brown, red and orange forest floor. Softly, the brightly colored leaves fell around him, like something out of a Robert Frost poem. He was out of place in this beautiful place.

Gently, A bright red one shaped a lot like a maple leaf fell on his blanketed arm.

The small troop of guardsman sitting atop their meeners surrounded him in a circle, staring down at the insensible man.

—————————————————————

TBC...


	20. Chapter 20

(And I made it home! Ask and ye shall receive! LOL! Thank you all so very much!)

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: FACING DOWN THE DEVIL**

—————————————————————————

With a nod from their captain, one of the younger guards jumped down and approached the still, blue clad figure lying on the ground. Resting a hand on the cold head, he studied the pale, almost peaceful face for a moment. Then he pushed back the blanket and touched the neck, brow furrowing a little when he felt the faintest flutter of a heartbeat. They'd thought he was dead. The red leaf that had caught on the blanket fell off onto the ground.

"What's the story, Meeks?" the captain asked, sounding a little bored.

"Alive, sir," the young guard said, resting back on his haunches, fingers tingling a little from the coldness of the off-worlder's skin. He rubbed his hands together to warm them back up. "But not for much longer. He'll die if he doesn't get help."

The captain frowned, then dismounted himself and walked over to stand over the unconscious man.

After a moment, he sighed and looked behind him at a different member of his troop. "Carr, head back to the Stargate, see if the guards there have a cart we can borrow. Tell them we found one of the off-worlders…dead. Probably not worth it to take him to the Citadel. We'll take him to the Gate, store him there until the guard change, then, if they really want him, someone can cart the body back to Garillion."

Meeks looked up at his captain, "But…sir, he's not dead yet."

His CO looked back at him, "Yes he is, Meeks. I don't particularly want to drag him fifty miles back to Garillion right now on the off chance he might survive the trip, do you?"

Meeks stared at him a moment longer then, slowly, shook his head, looking down again at the soft features of the man.

When the captain turned away again, to send Carr off to the Gate, Meeks reached down and slowly tucked the blanket up back over the poor off-worlder's head, shifting him a little. As he did so, the radio fell out of McKay's hand and rolled a little down the slight incline to stop at Meeks' feet.

The young guard frowned, lifting it up. He studied it for a second, then turned to his captain.

"Sir," he said, holding up the radio, "I think this may be a transmission device. If you look, it says 'talk' next to the button."

The captain arched an eyebrow and took the radio. After a moment, he pressed the button.

"Hello?" he called, "Anyone there?"

When no one answered immediately, the captain frowned. He shook the device a little, then tried again. "Hello? Is anyone reading my transmission?"

Again, nothing but static.

The captain shrugged and tossed the radio back on the ground by the unconscious Doctor McKay.

"Useless," he grumbled, not hiding his disappointment.

"Not if the people on the other end of the line don't wish to talk to you," Meeks suggested, picking up the radio again. He looked up at the Captain, who was mounting his meener again. "If it's more of the escapees, I doubt they would answer." He played with the radio a bit, clicking the talk button a few times, interested when the green light stayed lit.

The captain grimaced, his lips screwing up in a strange twist, and then he shrugged. "Fine," he said, "We'll try again in a little while. Meanwhile," he looked past Meeks to the scientist on the ground, "finish him off and let's go."

Meeks flinched, his eyes widening as the radio fell back by his side. "What? Me?"

"You're the one on the ground."

"But," Meeks looked at McKay, then back at his captain, "Sir…I can't. Not in cold blood."

The captain heaved a deep sigh, then looked to the left and right, where the rest of his men were watching him. They all looked a little apprehensive, as if afraid he would ask them next. Finally, he rolled his eyes, and looked at Meeks again.

"I'm not asking you, Guardsman, I'm telling you. Kill him. Gunshot to the heart, head…doesn't matter. Just finish him off so we can be done with this business."

Meeks looked pained. "Sir? Please…."

"Now, Meeks. Or would you like to go home and explain to your father how you were discharged without pay just six weeks into service?"

Meeks winced, sighed, and looked at Doctor McKay again. The radio was moved to his left hand, and he pulled out the revolver strapped to his thigh with his right. With a shaking hand, he pulled back the safety and lifted it to point at the unconscious man.

He swallowed, "Please, sir," he whispered.

"Now, Meeks," the captain ordered again.

"_I wouldn't do that if I were you_."

Meeks dropped the radio like a hot poker. The voice, and its warning, had echoed clearly over the device, and he backed away from both it and McKay.

The captain hissed in annoyance and jumped down off his meener, reaching for the radio with a glare at the young guard. Lifting it up, he placed it to his lips.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"_Major Lorne, United States Air Force. Cease and desist your actions right now_."

"Well," the captain sneered, looking around at the empty forest, "Major Lorne, I'm afraid you are a little out of your depth. My name is Captain Godfrey, and, if you are one of the escapees from the Citadel, I'll have you know that I have a full complement of men at my disposal, and I'm a crack shot. I'd reconsider how you talk to me, if I were you."

"_No,_" Lorne replied, "_I don't think I will. Drop your weapons and back away from him. Now._"

Godfrey laughed, "Please! You think we are falling for this, Major?" He shook his head, "You're not even brave enough to face us!"

"_I wouldn't be so sure, Godfrey_," Lorne hissed. "_Perhaps you should take a more careful look around._"

The meeners had started to dance and move nervously, causing the guards to react similarly, or perhaps it was the other way around. Several turned their meeners around, trying to find the source of the possible threat. Meeks was now standing almost protectively over the man he'd been ordered to kill, pointing his weapon in the general direction of the woods in the direction of the road.

He was the first to see them.

Five men in dark clothing similar to that worn by the man at his feet appeared from out behind trees, carrying what looked like rapid fire machine guns. They were like ghosts, appearing almost from nowhere, and their expressions were fearless. They should have seen them coming, but they hadn't. Meeks whimpered a little, looking up at Godfrey.

By now, the captain and several others had seen them as well, and the meeners were placed in a position to face the oncoming threat. Rifles were raised.

Godfrey gave a dry smirk and raised the radio to his lips again. "Just five men, Major? Not much of a threat against near fifteen of us. You might be able to take some of us with those fancy weapons, but you can't possibly get all of us. If I were you, I'd give up now. We're trained guardsmen of King Stewart; we will not go down without a fight."

"_And you, Captain_," Major Lorne snapped back, "_should probably look up_."

Godfrey looked puzzled for a second, then, slowly, lifted his head. Jaws dropped among the collected guardsman as a massive, box-like ship appeared out of thin air pointing down at them…and what could only be weapon's pods opened on either side.

"_Drop your weapons, Captain_," Lorne ordered, staring down at the captain from the cockpit, "_or be blown to pieces. Your choice_."

Godfrey closed his jaw, and looked again at the five strange looking soldiers facing him down. He saw the anger in their eyes, and realized, a little late, that he might be out of his depth.

"Lower your weapons," he snarled at his men, shivering with his frustration at being out-maneuvered.

Behind him, Meeks stifled his sigh of relief.

—————————————————————————

TBC...Yay! That's one! Now...what about the others? Oh, and fyi, I have finished writing the story. There are 29 chapters.


	21. Chapter 21

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: RECON**

———————————————————

Carson paced in the back of the jumper, waiting as he watched the events unfold below through the viewscreen. Still threatened by the ship, the men of this planet and their…what….were those horses?...had backed off, allowing Corporal Johnson to slip in and pick up McKay. Johnson was enormous, at least as big as Ronon and twice as broad, and he scooped up McKay as if a child. Carson tried not to make assumptions when McKay's seemingly lifeless arm fell loose from blue blanket enveloping him, the lack of reaction seriously worrying. On the ground, Stackhouse looked up at the ship and gave Lorne a thumbs up before giving the order for his men to move out. In moments, they were tracking the Atlantian soldiers on the Hud as they quickly made their way to a clearing Lorne had spotted, one large enough to land the jumper. The ship itself never moved from its position, and Lorne never took his eyes off of Captain Godfrey.

Carson was going crazy, wringing his hands, trying not to panic because of his current inability to act. All he knew was Johnson's brief assurance that McKay was alive, but unconscious.

"Okay," Lorne said suddenly, "they're at the clearing."

The ship shifted, the sensation barely felt with the inertial dampeners, and Lorne sent them sailing over the trees at incredible speed. In mere seconds, they set down, and Carson hit the button to open the rear hatch even before the ship was flush with the earth.

Johnson jumped inside first, and, at Carson's direction, placed McKay on the floor. The other four soldiers came in after, weapons still pointed at the forest, and the last in shut the hatch. Lorne got them airborne and cloaked again as soon as he could, even though he knew Godfrey and his guardsmen couldn't reach them that quickly.

Carson muttered and mumbled, hissing as he quickly assessed the wounds and checked McKay's vitals. His litany of small swears and his dark expression was not lost on the other men in the jumper. Next to him, the field medic, Sergeant Greene, started to prepare the IV bags and checked the vitals Carson wasn't, quickly writing them down on a pad.

"He gonna be okay?" Johnson asked, settling down on the bench near the back hatch, rubbing a little at his sore arms and shoulders.

"No," Carson said, "Not unless I can get him back to Atlantis. Major, what—"

"We can't, Doc, not yet," Lorne replied. "We have to find the rest of McKay's team, Doctor Travis and Doctor Weir first. Is McKay awake, or can you wake him? He can probably tell us—"

"He's not awake," Carson snapped, grabbing an IV bag from Greene, "and he's not going to be waking anytime soon, son. He's in a coma, and unless I get him back home soon, he's not going to survive."

Lorne grimaced, and, for a moment, made no response.

"I see," he stated quietly, finally.

"Sir," Stackhouse had moved to sit on Lorne's right in the cockpit and was pointing to the huge stone castle at the far end of the valley. "That must be the Citadel. If the others are anywhere…."

The major nodded. "Right, guess that's where we're going."

In the back, Carson looked up from where he'd been desperately searching for a vein on McKay's arm, torn between needing to get McKay home and wanting to find the others, as they had been sent through here to do.

"Major…" he tried again. "Is there any chance we could return—"

"No, Doctor," Lorne replied, cutting him off, never turning his head to look Carson. "I'm sorry. As soon as we know where the others are, we'll get him back as soon as possible, I promise you."

"But, son, you don't understand, he—"

"Doctor Beckett," Stackhouse said suddenly, turning in his seat and meeting Carson's eyes in the back. "You know Doctor McKay better than I do, but I'm thinking there was a reason he did not mention how badly hurt he was in his message. I mean, it was pure luck that we caught that radio signal and found him, seeing as he didn't tell us where he was. My guess is, he would not want us to get him home unless we got all of the others as well at the same time." The young sergeant's eyes softened slightly, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Beckett's jaw clenched, then loosened. He closed his eyes briefly, then turned away, returning to his ministrations. "Aye," he whispered sadly. Up front, Lorne gave Stackhouse a quizzical look, not so sure he agreed with the assessment after what he'd seen of McKay on the radiation planet where they'd found Ronon, but, then, he hadn't known McKay that long either. But, if it got Beckett off his back….

"Can we try their radios?" Corporal Dunne asked, leaning over Stackhouse's shoulder, peering at the Citadel with curious eyes, impressed by how much of it was cliff and how much was carved stone. "After all, that's how we found McKay. I know we weren't picking up any other radio signals when we located him, but now that we're deeper into the valley…maybe we could get lucky again?"

"Only as a last resort," Lorne replied, adjusting his speed towards the structure. "You're right that we got lucky with McKay—lucky that Captain Godfrey was an ass and lucky that no one else was in range to hear his or our transmission. No, if the Colonel is out there and he's trying to stay hidden, he won't want us alerting them to his position by using his radio."

"Then how do we find them?" Stackhouse asked, adjusting one set of sensors on his side of the cockpit to pick up any radio signals, however faint.

"The old fashioned way," Lorne replied. "Stackhouse, adjust the main sensors to pick up large, fast moving troop movements, and Dunne, use your eyes. If they've been captured or are being chased, we should be able to spot a group of that size. There aren't that many roads down there."

"What about energy signatures?" Stackhouse suggested, "Ronon's weapon emits a faint charge, doesn't it?"

"I already thought of that," Lorne replied. He blinked and a screen showing the valley and a whole mess of faint blue dots pulsing along it sprang up. "There's tech here. Probably all small, but I doubt we could isolate Ronon's weapon in all that."

"We need better ways to track our people," Dunne said in annoyance, still staring out the front, his eyes now scouring the ground in case he got lucky.

"Yeah," Lorne snorted, "But if we could track them easily, how long do you think it would take for the Wraith to catch on?"

The young, dark-haired corporal's face screwed up at that, but he didn't disagree.

"I'm picking up at least six sets of fairly quickly moving troop movements, sir," Stackhouse announced. "Two heading into the City, two in the middle of the valley, one near the Gate, and one coming from the direction of the pass behind the Citadel."

"Okay," Lorne nodded, "Let's check 'em out. We have forty five minutes until the Daedalus gets here, and I want our people found before that."

In the back of the jumper, Carson looked up, finding it a little odd to hear that statement from the young major. He'd sounded a lot like Sheppard there for a second. With a grimace, he glanced at Greene, watching as the medic quickly entered data onto a pad, then past him to where Corporal Johnson was still sitting there watching them work. The corporal looked sad, and his eyes flicked up from their focus on McKay's face to the doctor's when he felt the scrutiny

Beckett put on his best doctor's face. "It's all right, son," he said quietly, "he'll be all right now."

Johnson continued to meet his eyes, then looked down again. "He and Teyla Emmagen saved my life, sir," the big man said softly. "During the Wraith siege, right after Doctor McKay got the ZPM installed. He and Teyla came around a corner and stopped a Wraith from feeding on me and a couple of others." He shrugged, "I could tell he didn't want to be there, or to stay with us when we went after the rest of the Wraith still in the City, but...he did." He looked up at Carson again, huge brown eyes meeting pale blue ones unabashedly. "I owe them."

Carson nodded, lowering his eyes to take in the much too pale face on the floor before him. "I know, lad," he agreed, resting a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "I know."

———————————————————

TBC...oooh...I know, Lorne seems cold, but, remember, his only knowledge of McKay at this point is the McKay in Runner...not the best impression...Oh, and Johnson is nothing clever, for anyone trying to pick up on my name plays. I randomly gave that name to the big guy with Ford, Teyla and Markham in the jumper in the Defiant One when I wrote Aftermath, and he just keeps showing up in my fics. LOL!

Oh, and, yup, Lorne is USAF. I originally had USMC, but at the last second checked Gateworld and...there you go.Thank you,Gateworld!


	22. Chapter 22

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A NATURAL BORN WORLD SHAKER**

——————————————————————

Sheppard sat up straight in the saddle, ignoring the pain in his back and the throbbing in his skull as they entered the main part of the city. He felt Elizabeth lift her head off his back when he shifted, telling him she was alert again. The meeners were moving much more slowly now, making their way with an almost stately gait up the cobblestone streets back to the Citadel.

The citizenry had all come out to watch the procession, and children ran ahead of them, calling out to whomever would listen that "They've got 'em! They got the escaped criminals!"

A smile formed on his face, and he waved gaily at the curious people. They looked back, a little puzzled.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth hissed in his ear. "Are you nuts? These people are here to see us hang!"

"Then we may as well give them a show," Sheppard replied, his smirk widening on his face. "Because I'm not about to give them the satisfaction of seeing us beat." He glanced at her over his shoulder, "Are you?"

Elizabeth looked down for a moment, considering this, and, slowly, a mischievous smile grew on her face. When she looked up again, something sparkled inside her eyes. "No," she agreed, the strength returning to her voice, making her sound more like the Doctor Weir he knew. "Not by a long shot."

Brushing back some of the hair on her face and straightening it a little, she started waving as well with her good arm.

The guards bringing them in glanced at each other, surprised by the actions of the prisoners, but did nothing to stop them.

Some of the people actually began to smile back, and a few even waved.

"Have fun at the hanging!" one smart-ass yelled.

"Thank you!" Sheppard yelled back. "Care to join us? It promises to be a real neck-stretcher!"

Elizabeth's eyes widened, but she didn't stop her waving, especially when the crowd around them gave a few half hearted chuckles. It was oddly neat.

"Neck-stretcher?" a different man yelled, brow furrowed. "You're kidding, right?"

"I never kid about necks," Sheppard said solemnly, "or stretching. Or about stretching before you neck, because you never know where it's going to lead!" He grinned wickedly, and the men in the crowd guffawed while a few of the woman gave mock gasps of horror. Elilzabeth just gave Sheppard an incredulous look.

"You mean, you want to be hanged?" the woman next to the yeller called, crossing her arms as she walked to keep up with them, as most were.

"No," Sheppard replied, "Wanna take my place? You know, I know the Governor--I bet he could get you in!"

More of the people laughed, and soon they had a solid complement of people following them up the cobblestone broadway, a large number of them smiling.

"Why'd you try to escape!" someone else yelled.

"Because we were trying to get away!" Elizabeth answered back, getting into the game. In front of her on the meener, Sheppard grinned.

"Yeah, but where did you think you were going?" another person yelled.

"Somewhere other than here!" Sheppard replied. The crowd was laughing heartily now.

"Did you really think you'd get away with it?" a woman shouted snippily, crossing her arms. A massive, oversized blue bonnet on her head bobbed when she stuck her nose in the air.

"Did you really think you could get away with that hat?" Elizabeth challenged back.

The crowd burst into laughter, and several people tried to steal the woman's hat. She squealed and ducked inside a nearby house. The guards looked at each other uncomfortably, not sure if they should put a stop to this or not. The crowd filled the street from edge to edge now, some climbing over steps and through flowerbeds to keep up

"Will you try again?" someone called, a sly look on their face.

"Do meeners smell?" Sheppard yelled back. The crowd loved that, and they tried to get closer. The guards started having to pay more attention to keep them back.

"I bet you smell great," a woman called huskily from a balcony, leaning suggestively over the metal railing.

"You're not sitting behind him," Elizabeth called back, rolling her eyes. "Believe me. It's not pretty."

The woman laughed, joining in the mirth of the people below, and the crowd got even closer. The guards started trying to hurry their progress up, especially as more people were arriving on the street ahead of them, coming to see what the fuss was.

"How you gonna do it?" a man yelled. "If you try to escape, how you gonna do it?"

"He can't," a different person answered. "They ain't got nothing! Look at 'em. How they gonna escape?"

Sheppard grinned at the two arguing men. "Nothing?" he said back. "I've seen folks win many a game of skill with nothing," he said airily. "'Cause sometimes nothing can be a real cool hand."

That got some "oohs" as people appreciated the self-confidence of the statement.

Elizabeth leaned closer to his ear, "Did you just quote Cool Hand Luke?"

"I'm feeling kinda Paul Newmany right now, yeah," Sheppard replied over his shoulder. Then he waggled his eyebrows. "And I guess that makes you Dragline." He felt Elizabeth's soft chuckle at the ridiculous comparison of her to big George Kennedy. Around them, people were practically cheering for them now.

They came around a corner, and found themselves being greeted by another passel of guardsmen. Sitting in the middle of them was Teyla, Travis and...a groggy looking Ronon. The big man was half slumped over his saddle, as if he'd only just woken up and was trying to remember how he got there. He was the only one actually tied to his saddle as well. Teyla arched her eyebrow at Sheppard and Elizabeth and their following, then gave one of her trademark knowing smiles.

"Colonel!" she called genteelly in greeting. "Doctor Weir."

"Teyla!" he called back. "Good to see you." He then gave Travis a quick two fingered salute. "I'm even glad to see you, Travis. How's things?"

The young doctor lifted his eyebrows "Seriously?" he asked. "Not good. I think they're planning on hanging us."

"Yeah," Sheppard agreed, "I got that impression too. I might be jumping to conclusions though."

"You should really stop doing that," Elizabeth chastised the colonel, a smile on her face. "It just gets us all into trouble."

"Ah, but he is very good at it," Teyla noted.

"A natural born world-shaker," Elizabeth quoted, her eyes narrowing a little. Sheppard glanced at her over his shoulder again, eyebrow arch in full regalia.

The crowd continued to laugh at their antics, ignoring the guards as they tried harder to push them back. The two contingents joined together, attempting to continue moving their captives up to the Citadel together, despite the now very solid human traffic jam formed around them.

Teyla glanced around at the audience, then back at the colonel, raising her eyebrows. Sheppard just grinned back. She inclined her head at him, impressed.

And they continued their now inching progress up to the Citadel, and to the gallows they could see set up on the roof of the top floor.

——————————————————————

TBC...for those who are curious, "a natural born world shaker" is also from Cool Hand Luke.


	23. Chapter 23

(I love you all to pieces, I really do!)

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TAKING IN THE SIGHTS**

———————————————————————

"Sir," Stackhouse hissed, pointing out the front of the jumper.

"I see them," Lorne replied, lowering their trajectory over the sprawling medieval like city.

Down below, a massive crowd of people, perhaps close to a couple thousand strong, were parading thickly up a wide street towards the Citadel. Near the front, thronged on all sides, were about thirty guardsmen on those horned horses, and in the middle of them…were Sheppard, Weir, Teyla, Ronon and Travis. Sheppard and Weir were sharing a horse, but the other three were riding single. Coming up behind them was a cart carrying what looked surprisingly like a motorcycle.

They were moving very slowly, their horses forced to dance a step back for every few steps forward. The boisterous crowd was keeping them at a snail's pace and, surprisingly, it looked like the Atlantians were enjoying themselves. They were even waving. If it wasn't for the blood and dirt on their clothes, and the way Ronon Dex looked like he was about to fall off, he'd think they were being welcomed as heroes.

"Sir?" Dunne said, his voice soft. He was pointing up at the Citadel, in particular at the roof on the top floor where a half dozen guards were staring down at the goings on below.

"Oh, for the love of God," Beckett exhaled, stepping up next to the young soldier. In the back, Greene and Johnson continued to monitor McKay, who appeared stable for now, but both turned their heads to the front at Beckett's soft exclamation. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

"Gallows," Lorne affirmed, "With five nooses. They're going to hang them when they get up there."

"Brilliant," Beckett muttered dryly.

"Can we land on that roof?" Stackhouse asked, trying to judge its size. "If we can take out those guards after they bring our people up…."

"It's not big enough," Lorne stated. "I'm thinking more than six guards will be up there when they reach that stage, including whomever's in charge here, and I'm not about to land _on_ people, even if that roof were strong enough. But," he tilted his head, "I could get close. If I got alongside, maybe…but they'd see us coming the moment we opened the rear hatch and stepped out, and, even if they can't see the ship, one lucky shot from their rifles into the interior…." He studied it for a moment, obviously working out scenarios in his head, then looked back down at the "parade." His face got darker as he considered everything that might go wrong. After a moment, he looked over at Stackhouse, "How long would you estimate it will take them to get all the way up there?"

"Fifteen, twenty minutes, tops," Stackhouse said. "Maybe less if they institute some crowd control….which looks like they might soon." They could see the guardsmen getting more and more frustrated with the people, some physically turning and using their horses to push some of them down.

Lorne nodded, "That's what I thought." He reached over and hit the ship to ship communications link. "Daedalus, this is Jumper One, do you copy?"

A slight pause, then, clearly, "_Jumper One, this is Daedalus. We're reading you loud and clear. What's your status_?" Caldwell sounded much too calm for someone racing to the rescue.

"We've located all of the members of SGA-1 as well as Doctors Weir and Travis, sir. Doctor McKay is with us here in the jumper, but he is badly hurt."

"That's an understatement," Beckett muttered. Lorne gave him a exasperated look, then continued.

"The rest of our people are under guard in the main city on this planet. We've spotted them being paraded up through the main city to the Citadel, probably to the roof, where a set of gallows has been set up."

There was another pause on the line, then, "_Gallows, Major? Did you just say gallows? Are you telling me our people are being taken up to that Citadel to be hanged_?"

"Yes, sir, that's what I'm saying. I'd like to add sir, that they are placed in such a way that most everyone in the city looking up will be able to see the execution." He sneered, not hiding what he thought about public executions, but then, this wasn't his world.

The pause was longer this time, then Caldwell's voice came back as cold and as hard as ever, "_Can you cleanly extricate our people on your own, Major_?"

"Not at the moment sir. There are too many people around. However, we may have some luck once they are on the roof of the structure."

"_You mean, when they are about to be hanged, Major_."

Lorne grimaced, "Yes, sir."

The pause extended a bit, then, "_What is the timing, Major_?"

"We estimate they will be before the gallows in one-five minutes, Colonel, perhaps less."

"_I see_," Caldwell replied, "_We are thirty minutes away still, Major, but it would obviously be helpful if we were there. You say there are crowds of people around—I assume many of those people are civilians_?"

"Affirmative, sir."

They heard Caldwell sigh, a strange sound over the link. "_Major, can you create a distraction without giving yourself away or alerting the military there to your presence? Something to give us time to get there and help you out?_"

"Sir," Dunne said, pointing down at something near the base of the Citadel, next to a broad courtyard adjacent to what looked like the kitchens. The boy gave a sly smile, "That might work."

Lorne followed his line of sight, then smiled. "Colonel Caldwell," he said, "I think we may have an effective distraction."

"_Then do it, Major. Report when you've finished. We'll be there soon. Caldwell out_."

Lorne hit the link cutting their communication with the Daedalus. "Okay," he said, looking back at Dunne then over at Stackhouse. "You think you can do this?"

The two young soldiers just grinned wickedly.

Beckett gave a soft sigh. "Just watch your toes, boys," he warned as Lorne turned the ship towards the large kitchen courtyard Dunne had pointed out. "Don't want to mend any crushed feet."

———————————————————————

On the ground, Sheppard looked up for a brief moment, thinking possibly, just possibly, he might have heard the faint whine of a jumper. He didn't see anything in the sky, but something felt different to him.

But was that possible? How could they even know?

Sheppard looked down at the radio that was still stuffed inside his vest on his shoulder. The temptation to use it was strong, but, the moment he did, he knew the guards would be alerted to its presence. They'd been ignoring it up until now, knowing it was not a weapon, but if he tried to use it….

The hand he'd been waving, and which had drifted to his shoulder turn on the radio, returned to waving.

Someone yelled another infantile question, and, this time, Teyla was the one who quipped back an answer, and the crowd erupted once more in laughter.

Sheppard couldn't resist a small smile of pride.

———————————————————————

Commander Chanee was furious, stomping up and down the plush carpet in the high room overlooking the city, beyond angry at the procession he could see down below.

"I want them up here now!"

"But, sir," the lieutenant serving him protested, "we can't order our guards to start attacking the people. Not with the King coming."

"But that's exactly the point," Chanee growled, turning to face the younger lieutenant, the folds of fat around his face quivering in anger. "The King is coming! And soon. Perhaps within the hour! I do not want those off-worlders alive when he gets here. This city will be under my control, all of it!"

The lieutenant lowered his eyes, knowing full well exactly why Chanee wanted to show his prowess over both the people of the valley and the off-worlders—because it would show the King he had the balls to be the Governor here and oversee the Gate and all it entailed. It was a bit of a Catch 22 for the King that he needed someone strong to guard the valley, but that often meant someone who, like former Governor Medved, might decide they want more than just the valley to control. Looking at Chanee…he saw the same lust for power as Medved had when the King replaced the last governor with him.

"What do you suggest, sir?" the lieutenant asked coolly. "That they start running people over with their meeners? Perhaps fire into the crowd?"

Chanee smiled coldly, "Yes, if necessary."

"So," the lieutenant looked up again, "is that an order, sir?"

"Yes, lieutenant," Chanee snarled, "it's an order."

———————————————————————

TBC...just five more to go! (this is 24 see, not 23...I doubled up two chapters somewhere back there in the beginning).And yes, Chanee is a bad, bad man...


	24. Chapter 24

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: DISTRACTIONS**

———————————————————————

The still cloaked jumped lowered itself down over the courtyard, right above the large corral of meeners that had, only recently, hidden Sheppard and, later, Teyla and Travis. Lorne had the invisible ship facing into the courtyard, trying to maintain the illusion as long as possible.

In the back, Stackhouse and Dunne had clipped the ropes to their waists—the same ones they'd used when they'd "snuck" up on Captain Godfrey and rescued McKay—and Johnson opened the back hatch. Greene and Beckett instinctively moved to protect McKay, though the only thing they were facing out the back was the blank stone wall of the Citadel.

Lorne took one more look around, making sure no one was watching, then gave the "go" order with his hand.

In seconds, the two soldiers were sliding down the ropes out of the back, landing right in the middle of the meeners. Anyone watching would have been shocked to see two men appear as if from thin air, but they moved so quickly, they might also have wondered if they'd imagined them. As soon as they were down, Stackhouse and Dunne unclipped the ropes—which the soldiers still in the jumper quickly drew back up—and then the two men started untying any of the meeners that were tied down and cutting saddle cinches.

Stackhouse paused a few times, when he found that many had already been cut.

Shaking the question off, he returned to his work.

Before long, they had them all cut, and Stackhouse was moving to the front of the stall, to the gate. Dunne moved to the back.

Up above, the jumper had closed the back hatch and had lifted again to check the status of the procession. Johnson and Greene both stood ready to drop the ropes again to pick up their two men on the ground, the latter poised to hit the hatch release the moment he was ordered to.

Beckett just held Rodney's arm, staring down at the inert features, waiting.

And up in front, in the pilot's seat, Major Lorne started released a slow breath, patiently looking for the right moment to tell his men on the ground to act...

———————————————————————

The two captains leading the captives up the hill were provided their new orders from a runner from the Citadel, and the bleak expressions on their faces showed exactly what they thought of them. Still, orders were orders, and they were soon passed around among the twenty some odd guardsmen surrounding the prisoners.

No one looked happy.

Elizabeth's smile finally fell, sensing the change. Her eyes were drawn to the Citadel, knowing exactly who was to blame.

"Back off!" one of the captains suddenly yelled at the crowd, "or we'll be forced to take measures!"

"Oh, yeah?" someone in the crowd mocked, "whatcha gonna do? Shoot us?" And he laughed, as did a large number of others.

"It's what we've been ordered to do," the captain replied, and he made a hand motion in the air to his men. Abruptly, rifles were cocked and pointed out towards the crowd.

The laughter died instantly.

"Now back off! Now!" the captain yelled.

"Are you serious?" a woman asked, holding a child in her arms closer to her chest. "You'd shoot your own people?"

"It's not up to us," the captain said. "And I will not ask again."

Curiously, no one in the crowd moved. They seemed almost too surprised to shift backwards. That and the sheer number of them—no one would be able to move fast.

"Move BACK!" the captain ordered.

"Now, now, hey," Sheppard said, raising a hand, "Let's calm down. I'm sure if these people just—"

"You are not to speak anymore," the other captain barked, a dark, burly man as broad as the other captain was skinny. He stared blackly at the colonel. "This is your fault."

"Oh," Sheppard's eyebrows lifted, "really? Because I don't remember giving you the order to shoot your own people."

With impressive speed, the same captain pulled a gun and pointed it at Sheppard's head. "Don't tempt me, prisoner."

The crowd didn't like that, and an angry murmur started to escalate.

Sheppard held up both hands now, but he didn't speak again.

Elizabeth, however, felt no such disinclination. "Captain," she said, her voice lowering in pitch as she spoke over John's shoulder, "Colonel Sheppard was only suggesting that, perhaps, you are escalating this to something dangerous, when it was nothing more than a...a bit of fun. Perhaps if you explained to the people why—"

"QUIET!" the captain pointing the gun at Sheppard yelled, pointing it now at her and pulling back the hammer. "I can kill a woman as easily as a man, prisoner!" Elizabeth grimaced at that, but did as she was told, shutting her mouth.

However, the crowd was not about to let that go.

"Hey, leave her alone!" a man near the guards yelled.

"She's not saying anything wrong!" someone else added.

"Stay back!" the first captain yelled, still brandishing his rifle at the crowd. "Stay back!"

"This is wrong!" a large man on the far side of the road yelled. "They're not hurting anyone!"

"And you can't threaten your own people! How dare you!" a woman yelled. "We won't leave!"

"I said, stay back!" the skinny captain yelled again. "Now! Or we will fire!"

But the crowd was no longer a crowd. With the unstoppable force of an ocean wave, they turned into a mob and pushed towards the guardsmen.

The captain fired a warning shot in the air. Several other of his men followed suit.

People in the crowd started to scream, especially the ones with children, and they started to try and push away from those who didn't want to leave, but too many wanted to stay.

More shouting, angry and irate, erupted from the mob, and they swelled inwards again. The meeners started to huff and jump, getting nervous. They were being pushed from all sides now. More warning volleys were sent into the air, but, as with last time, it only made things more mad.

"Make me a way through!" the first captain yelled over the roar of the crowd, looking the guardsmen in the front.

And, for the first time, shots were fired directly into the people. The crowd's furious roar was drowned out by screaming now, as people finally understood that the guards really _would_ fire on them. People started pushing all sorts of ways, trying to get out of the now incredibly small feeling space.

The guardsmen pushed their meeners forward, the animals putting their heads down in order to use their horns as big horned sheep would, and started knocking over and through people, creating a sort of corridor. Elizabeth found herself holding on to Sheppard tightly as their meener was roughly pulled forward, forced to a speed that seemed irrational when there was so little room. She tried to see if anyone had actually been hit, but the running, screaming people were such a blur around them, it was impossible to tell. Travis, Teyla and Ronon were dragged behind, forced to match the pace being set.

Guardsmen continued to fire into the crowd, and the people continued to scatter. Some pissed off Garillions threw rocks, but it only made things worse, as the guards couldn't tell the difference between the sound of a rock hitting a rock wall and a bullet.

For a moment, Sheppard thought of using the distraction, but the chaos was too much. He didn't think he could get them all away, not without hurting more of the people of this City.

Hissing a swear, he looked up when they emerged onto a clearer road, and he recognized it as the one he'd followed just six hours ago when it was still night. It seemed oddly quiet after the mess they'd just left, and lonely.

And he looked up...the Citadel was almost on top of them now.

———————————————————————

"Now!" Lorne yelled into his radio.

———————————————————————

Sheppard's head snapped up, having heard Lorne's voice loud and clear over the radio.

So did the rest of his team, and they all turned to stare at him with wide eyes.

And, unfortunately, so did the guards right around them.

———————————————————————

Stackhouse swung the gate to the corral open, and Corporal Dunne fired his gun in the air behind the meeners, shouting "Hyah!" at the same time. He shot again, slapping rumps and getting the meeners to move. "Move, move, move!" he yelled at them, quickly jumping up onto the fence railing when a few threatened to kick their back hooves at him. Another shot in the air and the meeners were practically climbing on top of each other to try and get out of the corral.

Stackhouse fell back against the corral fence, half-pushed by the swinging gate, trying to get out of the way as the terrified ram-headed horses stampeded past him. Then he got into the spirit, yelling "hyah," and laughing as they barreled down the road away from the Citadel—straight for Sheppard and the others.

———————————————————————

"What is that!" one of the guards demanded, reaching for Sheppard's radio.

"Um..." Sheppard looked down at his shoulder, then lifted his head slowly. His brow was furrowed, his ears catching something rumbling. He looked past the guard up the road, and his eyes widened. "I think it's a stampede," he replied.

The guard stared at him, then turned his head forward. All around the prisoners, the guards had stopped, staring nervously up the road.

When the first meeners came around the corner, charging, screaming and terrified, down the road towards them, the captain in front wheeled around.

"DISPERSE!" he ordered. "SPREAD OUT! HURRY!"

The guards wheeled around, and the prisoners were turned with them. They scattered in all directions, Sheppard and Elizabeth finding themselves being whipped down an alleyway off to the left without about six or seven guards, Teyla and Travis down another with about eight more, and Ronon down a third with the rest.

The meeners continued to fly down the central road, though some turned to follow the alleyways. It was like a flood of muscle was chasing them.

The captain and the guards with Elizabeth and Sheppard turned them down hill, and they careened around corners, narrowly missing hitting all manners of people in their wake. Behind them, other guards in the city tried to intercept the stampeding meeners chasing them, but when they attempted to jump on the meener's backs, they fell to the ground as the saddles slid off.

It was a damned effective distraction!

———————————————————————

The ropes were dropped out the back of the cloaked jumper, and a grinning Stackhouse and Dunne quickly climbed back up to the back slapping applause of the men inside the jumper. Lorne radioed Caldwell that they'd been successful.

———————————————————————

TBC...


	25. Chapter 25

(_In honor of Anna's birthday, here's one more chapter..._)

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: AND THAT'S ENOUGH OF THAT**

——————————————————————————

It took the guards some work to get the City back in order. By the time all the captives were back in one place again, looking a little worse for wear because of attempted escapes during the escapade (Teyla was sporting a bloody lip, Travis had a black eye, Elizabeth looked positively green, Sheppard now carried a bullet in one shoulder, though he acted as if it were just a scratch, and, funnily enough, Ronon just looked more awake), it was nearly half an hour later. Still, the trip up to the Citadel after that was remarkably quick. The people of Garillion watched from windows and from doorways with a muted and unhappy air.

Subdued, but still refusing to appear beaten, the five hurting and, in Sheppard and Elizabeth's cases, limping captives were cajoled, pushed and shoved up several flights of stairs, until, finally, they emerged on the roof just below the top level. Then, one by one, they were sent up the ladder leading to the very top roof of the Citadel.

Commander Chanee and about twenty guards met them up there, the wind up this high blowing their long, black military jackets up like bat's wings. The commander gave Elizabeth a smile when he saw the state she was in, her arm cradled to her chest and blood on one pants leg.

She stared back impassively, not blinking.

Chanee growled at the simple act of defiance, and turned to the young lieutenant behind him.

"Take them up onto the gallows platform," he ordered.

The two captains who had brought the five prisoners this far yielded them to the fresh guardsmen, and stepped back.

Sheppard led the way, climbing up the steps and walking with a determined, albeit limping, step to the farthest noose on the platform and moving to stand right in front of it. Elizabeth followed, standing before the next, her chin lifting in the air. Teyla was third, then Travis, and finally, on the end, Ronon.

Down below, the braver citizens of Garillion stood and watched, staring up at the five people on the roof of the Citadel with something akin to sadness. If Chanee had hoped for a typical hanging, where the people jeered and mocked the prisoners, he was sorely disappointed. Of course, it was his own fault, but he would never be able to see that.

He stepped forward on the platform and, pulling in a deep breath, began his recitation.

"PEOPLE OF GARILLION!" he yelled, his voice carrying down the cliff. "I, COMMANDER CHANEE, HEREBY DECLARE THAT THESE FIVE PEOPLE—COLONEL JOHN SHEPPARD, DOCTOR ELIZABETH WEIR, TEYLA EMMAGEN, DOCTOR ORRIN TRAVIS, AND SPECIALIST RONON DEX—ARE WAR CRIMINALS. PROFITEERS OF THE WORST KIND. THEY HAVE BEEN ACCUSED OF PARTICIPATING IN TREASON OF THE BASEST KIND, THREATENING THE STABILITY OF OUR WORLD. FOR THAT, THE PUNISHMENT CAN ONLY BE ONE. I THEREFORE SENTENCE THAT THEY BE HANGED BY THE NECK ...UNTIL DEAD."

The lack of any kind of reaction from the normally rambunctious city was louder than any actual noise could ever be.

Chanee frowned, but didn't try again. Turning, he looked to Elizabeth.

"Any last words, Doctor Weir?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at that. "Just that you've made a huge number of mistakes this day, Commander, and you'll know the sting of that soon enough."

Chanee snorted, then looked to Sheppard.

The colonel was staring off somewhere to the left, his head cocked at a strange angle, as if listening to his shoulder. The Commander didn't hide his puzzlement, especially when he thought he heard a sound like something clicking come from the colonel's shoulder—almost like a code. Looking around, he regarded the empty sky and the quiet valley. Still, whatever the clicking meant, it couldn't possibly save these people in time.

With that comforting thought in mind, he looked again at Sheppard. "What about you, colonel? I hear you led our men on a merry chase. Any last words?"

Sheppard turned unconcerned eyes to the Commander, then, slowly, smiled.

"You know what, commander?" he said, "Doctor Weir was right. You're an unqualified, unadulterated prick. AND IF I WERE YOU," he yelled, purposefully stepping forward, "I'D OVERTHROW HIS FAT ASS AS SOON AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE!"

"How dare you!" Channee yelled, "I..." he trailed off when he heard the cheering from down below. He turned and peered over the edge of the gallow's platform to the people in the City. Turning furious eyes back to Sheppard, he jabbed a finger at him, "You did this! You filthy cur!"

"No, I didn't," Sheppard snapped back, "you did."

"Kill them!" Chanee squealed, the sound remarkably reminiscent of a pig running from a farmer. "Now!"

"Actually," Sheppard said, taking another step forward away from the noose behind him and smiling more broadly now. "I don't think we want to be killed today."

Chanee stared back at him, "What?"

"In fact, I think we'll say goodbye now. Everyone?" Sheppard leaned forward, looking at the others. "Say goodbye to Commander Chanee."

And, curiously, all four people standing along the gallows platform did just that; four very different voices saying, "Goodbye, Commander Chanee." Elizabeth even smiled.

The Commander's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring furiously.

Sheppard just continued to smirk when Chanee glared at him again. "So long, asshole," he said, then, stepping forward on more time, he shouted down to the city, "AND GOOD-BYE, GARILLION!" And he raised a hand up high as of to wave...but ended up making a fist, sticking his thumb out like a hitchhiker and looking up.

The people cheered wildly, just as five identical flashes of light enveloped the prisoners up on the gallows...and they disappeared.

The cheering stopped instantly.

For a moment, no one in the city made a noise, too shocked to react, then the deafening clatter of a thousand people clapping and shouting approval echoed up the walls of the Citadel, and into the completely stunned ears of Commander Chanee.

——————————————————————————

"Get us back to Atlantis!" Beckett ordered inside the hovering jumper near the Citadel's roof, feeling Rodney begin to shiver and convulse, "NOW!"

Lorne didn't need to be told twice, swinging them around and accelerating rapidly towards the Gate at the far end of the valley, Stackhouse already dialing the Gate. Beckett yelled orders at Greene, trying desperately to sustain McKay's life just a little bit longer...

——————————————————————————

Caldwell acknowledged Sheppard's salute, then smiled at Elizabeth and the others where they all stood on the bridge of the Daedalus orbiting the planet. "Are you all alright?" he asked.

"No," Sheppard replied, stepping forward, any mirth he felt gone instantly. "Colonel, we need to locate Doctor McKay, he..."

"Is being carried through the Stargate home to Atlantis as we speak, Colonel," Caldwell stated. "Not to worry."

Sheppard released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and his shoulders seemed to slump a little. "Then, he's alive?" he asked, his voice soft. "He's okay?"

"I believe so," Caldwell replied. "He is in Doctor Beckett's hands now."

Sheppard suddenly grinned and threw his head back, releasing a huge sign of relief. Caldwell gave a small smile as well.

"And you have him to thank. If we hadn't gotten his message from that trader, we—"

Sheppard tilted his head back down, eyes wide, "Trader? You mean Connam?"

"Yes, I believe that's his name. He's probably still at the Alpha Site if you wish to speak with him."

Sheppard just continued to grin, turning to meet the relieved eyes of his teammates, Weir and Travis. They met his joyful look with grins of their own.

"Right," Caldwell stated, in a tone that suggested he was getting back to business, "now, I want all five of you to report to the med bay, where Doctors Biro and—"

"Oh!" Sheppard suddenly shot a finger in the air, "Colonel, wait, one more thing!"

———————————————————————

Chanee was down on the ground floor, now, pacing back and forth as he inspected the items they had managed to retain of the off-worlders, though they wasn't much. He hoped it would be enough to keep the King happy.

He walked up to the speedwheel, and felt himself relaxing a little as he took it in.

At least he still had...

A flash of light enveloped the speedwheel.

And for the first time since he was a child, Commander Chanee really wanted to cry.

———————————————————————

TBC...Phew! They're heading home! Oh, and I toggled a bit with the chapters, so it will seem like there are 29 here...Oh, and, to all the medical professionals, I know, I know...Please forgive me for the blatant ignorance of medicine.Oh, and, one more thing, yeppers, twotoe, Doctor Travis is a lawyer and a scientist. :)


	26. Chapter 26

_(Wow, guys, I'm speechless. Thank you!)_

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: NAME THAT DOCTOR**

—————————————————————————

Drugged, meaning he was feeling very warm and a little bit fuzzy, a smiling John Sheppard was participating in his favorite game when he was in the infirmary: "Name that doctor."

Only difference here was, he wasn't in the infirmary, he was in the med bay on the Daedalus. Still, location didn't matter when the tall, dark-skinned doctor was here, apparently sent along with Doctor Biro to boost the ship's medical team while Beckett went home on the jumper with Rodney. It actually seemed a little odd that Beckett wasn't here—he'd sort of gotten used to the Scot being on the Daedalus with the cavalry, but he knew Beckett was busy and Biro and the other guy were doing just fine. Right now, the "insert name here" doctor was hovering over Teyla, checking down her back and sides for damage from the throw she had received from the meener. Sheppard watched, listened, just waiting for the slip that would tell him the man's name….

Because, by now, he was almost certain that they were doing it on purpose. After all, it had been almost a year now, and not one person had used the doctor's name in his presence…and Sheppard was dead set on figuring this out without help. They thought they had him, did they? Well, he'd show them! Someone, at some point, was going to drop the ball, and when they did….

The black doctor didn't look happy at what he was finding, muttering softly to himself as he poked and prodded the Athosian.

Teyla didn't look too happy herself with the whole thing, wincing at almost every place he pressed and the doctor asked, "does it hurt here?"

"I think," she said testily after about the fifth affirmative answer to that question, "that you can safely assume that I hurt just about everywhere, doctor."

An impish grin that Teyla couldn't see because he was behind her crossed the doctor's face, before he sighed and leaned forward back into her line of sight (she was feeling adverse to turning her neck too much, it seemed—not surprising). Resuming his serious expression, the doctor crossed his arms and shook his head.

"You're going to need rest and some physical therapy, I'm afraid," he informed her, "before you're back in fighting shape. You bruised your ribs, pulled several muscles, and you'll be carrying bruises for a while. You're very lucky, you know. First, that you're in very good shape and know how to react when falling, and, two, that you didn't land on anything hard."

She sighed, nodded, then winced a little, lifting a hand to the back of her neck.

"Look," he smiled softly, "I'll give you something right now, then we'll get you more settled once we're home," he looked at the watch on his wrist, "which should be in about twenty minutes."

She offered him a forced smile, then let him help her lean back on the bed, her eyes closing almost before her head hit the pillow.

The doctor clicked his tongue and sighed again, backing away from the now dozing Teyla.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth, Travis and Ronon were dead to the world on their own cots, sleeping away the short ride home. Doctor Biro was keeping close tabs on Ronon, disliking all the abuse the man had taken, especially to his head. He'd heard the doctor mention something to the…other…doctor that it was a good thing Ronon had such a hard head. For some reason, all Sheppard could think of in response to that remark was, "takes a lickin', keeps on tickin'!"

Had to be the drugs.

His smile grew more crooked as the "thou-shalt-remain-nameless" doctor approached his side of the somewhat crampt room to check on him. The man was already scribbling down numbers in his book based on the monitors around Sheppard's bed as he walked. Strangely, Sheppard found the steadiness of all the beeping monitors in the room almost soothing. Probably because of exactly that—they were steady. No emergencies, no raised voices, no high pitched whines, just soft, steady, constant metronome like sounds….

Again, good drugs.

"I'm surprised you're still awake," the doctor said as he got right up next to the colonel's bed, checking Sheppard's IV and marking something more on his pad.

"Just enjoying the calm," the colonel replied drowsily.

"I can imagine." The doctor peered critically at the bandage on Sheppard's left shoulder, where they'd removed the bullet. "How's the shoulder?"

"Oh, fine. Can't feel it." Sheppard looked distractedly down at the arm strapped to his chest, then back up again, blinking slowly. "So, just out of curiosity, you, uh," Sheppard's eyes narrowed a little, "You wouldn't happen to know how Rodney is doing, exactly?"

"Ah, no," the doctor reached over to check another of Sheppard's IV lines, "not really. I do know Beckett was worried about him."

Sheppard grimaced a little, puzzled by that. "But Caldwell said McKay…that he was going to be okay? Almost like, Rodney was fine..." _At least, that was the impression I'd gotten_, he thought to himself.

The doctor shrugged, "I'm not sure. All I heard was that Beckett wanted to get him home as soon as possible."

Sheppard frowned more. "So, that means—"

"Look, I don't know, Colonel," the doctor game him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Oh," Sheppard found the happy glow he'd been feeling was fading fast. It made him think more about things he did not know the answers to—like how Rodney pulled off getting a message through to Atlantis. He blinked a little, then looked up again. The doctor was adding something to his drip. He watched for a second, then licked his lips to speak again.

"What did…do you…do you know…." Sheppard was having a hard time formulating the question he wanted to ask. "Do you know exactly how Rodney got a message through?"

"No," the doctor shook his head, and his head lifted, to look over at someone else on the other side of Sheppard's bed. "But Colonel Caldwell might."

Sheppard immediately turned his head towards the door, where Caldwell was striding into the med bay. The lieutenant colonel thought about giving the commander a salute, but ended up just giving him a sloppy grin instead. Caldwell didn't seem to mind, as the edges of his lips lifted ever so slightly.

"I heard you were still awake, Colonel," Caldwell said, slipping in next to the bed and standing at a sort of parade rest. "So I came down to see if I could get a fuller story from you as to what happened. After all, at this point, all I know is that you went from negotiating a trade agreement to almost being hanged," both eyebrows lifted, "all within less than seventy two hours…."

"Ah, well," Sheppard lifted his right hand, waving it about slightly; it seemed to blur a little in his eyesight, "turns out the Governor of Garillion isn't the head honcho on that planet, Colonel, some King is. The King took exception to the Governor buying arms and planning a coup d'etat, so the King took measures. Attacked while we were there, to teach us a lesson as well about arms dealing. In the melee, I got away with McKay, but the others were captured. I later returned to rescue the others. We escaped but, eh, we got caught again. Then you showed up." He smiled again at Caldwell, "Thanks for that."

Caldwell just inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Well, that was...pithy, Colonel. But it doesn't explain," his eyebrows lifted again, "why exactly I had Hermiod beam a motorcycle into my hanger bay?"

Sheppard instantly grinned wolfishly, remembering his prize. "Speedwheel," he corrected. "And it's mine." He tapped his chest in emphasis, and his eyes drifted up, drawn to the shininess of his superior officer's head. When Caldwell had nodded at him just now, it had shimmered.

Caldwell just arched an eyebrow at Sheppard's response. "Yours?"

"I bought it!" the colonel explained proudly, somehow bringing his eyes back down again.

"With what?"

"Ah," Sheppard opened his mouth to answer, then, some still rational part of him started screaming at him, _shut up, you idiot! shut up now! Don't tell him! For God's SAKE! _His eyes crossed a little in response, then looked back at Caldwell. "Bought it? Did I say bought it?" he slurred, eyes once more involuntarily looking up. _Damn, that head was shiny_. "I meant I won it. Cards. Playing cards...with Connam. Poker."

"Oh, I see," Caldwell's eyes narrowed, clearly dubious, and he moved his head a little, obviously a little disconcerted by the way Sheppard kept staring at his forehead. "Actually, that brings me to my next question. Exactly how did the trader get involved?"

"Good old Connam!" Sheppard grinned again. "His first name's Eric, you know that? Isn't that odd? Like Eric the Red, who founded Greenland…though he looks more like Colonel Custer to me…." Sheppard leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. For a moment, he didn't speak, then, slowly, he frowned. His moods were really rocking back and forth, and when he spoke again, his entire tone had changed, becoming deadly serious. "You know, that's a good question, Colonel. How did you, uh, get that message again? That we needed help?"

"Well, your good old Connam brought a note through the gate to the Alpha Site. He met Sergeant Stackhouse there, and Stackhouse brought it through to Atlantis."

"And," Sheppard blinked, trying hard to stay focused, "McKay wrote it?"

"Oh, without question. He wrote it in French, for one thing. It said that Garillion had been attacked, you and the others were on the run and probably needed rescuing, that Ronon was hurt, and to send a jumper and the Daedalus to the planet 'tout de suite.'"

Sheppard stared at him a moment, then leaned back again, eyes focusing on the wall opposite him on the other side of the room.

"So, you were right," he said thoughtfully, "We really do have McKay to thank…."

"So it would seem. Though, to be fair, Colonel, we were nearly too late. Had we gotten that message earlier, it might have helped. I assume, however, that there was a reason for the delay in getting it to us?" Caldwell sounded a little miffed.

Sheppard continued to stare over at the wall. All feeling of warmth had left him completely now, as a strange sort of chill descended as he considered the colonel's words.

"Yes," he agreed finally, "it probably would have made things easier. And yes, there was a reason for the delay." _But not a good one,_ he added silently to himself.

Caldwell tilted his head, then looked down. When he looked up again, Sheppard had his eyes closed.

The commander of the Daedalus gave a small smile, and patted the other man's good shoulder.

"Rest, Colonel Sheppard. We'll be home soon."

—————————————————————————

TBC...


	27. Chapter 27

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: HOME, HOME, HOME**

————————————————————————

When Sheppard woke again, it was to voices. Soft ones, one of which had a very distinctive Scottish brogue and another had the clipped tones of a woman with a chip on her shoulder.

Beckett and Biro.

They were arguing about something. He heard the terms "blood loss" and "no pedal pulse."

Sheppard gamely tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. All he heard was, "take the risk," from Beckett's mouth, and "you're one of the best." And Biro replying with something like, "hope he'll be all right, for your sake, Carson."

He fought against the lethargy holding him down, trying to get his eyes to open. It wasn't working. Damn it! Stay awake! What are they talking about!

But the darkness was too heavy…and he fell back asleep.

————————————————————————

The next time he woke, it was because someone was bustling around him, and he felt them hit the side of his bed a couple of times. Cracking open a lid, he found himself looking up at a white clad torso as someone who was most definitely female reached up over his head for something.

The lecherous part of him couldn't move for a second, enjoying the view too much.

Then she backed off and he was able to see her face. The nurse, Maria, gave him a broad smile—damn she was pretty—and then turned to call for Beckett.

In moment, a smiling Carson was jogging over.

"Colonel!" he greeted happily, "There you are! Feeling better?"

Sheppard was about to reply, when he felt something wet touch his lips. Maria smiled as she slipped the ice chip between them, then backed away, leaving him alone with Carson. He sucked on the chip for a moment, and it gave him a moment to think. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, and he looked down at himself—two legs, two arms, hands and feet…all accounted for.

Maybe he had imagined it.

He looked up at Carson again, saw the unhappy look the doctor was giving him.

"What's the matter?" Beckett asked.

"No," Sheppard swallowed the water still on his tongue, "No amputation?"

Beckett's eyes blinked, and he shook his head, unable to stop a small smile from touching his lips. "Amputation? Good lord, man, no! Where in the world did you get that idea?"

Sheppard frowned, "But I...I heard..." his eyes narrowed, trying to find the memory, "pedal pulse," he said finally. The last time he'd heard someone talk about lack of a pedal pulse had been in a hospital in Afghanistan, when one of his men had a leg amputated...

Beckett's mouth formed a small "oh," and he shook his head quickly. "No, son, no. We weren't talking about you. I didn't mean to worry you with that. No, no, you're fine. We cleaned up the wound on your left shoulder—nasty little wound, by the way—and reduced the swelling in your right knee. The knot on the back of your head will go away pretty quickly as well." He smiled, "As far as I can tell, you'll be up and about soon enough."

Sheppard frowned, then looked around. He saw Ronon asleep on another bed, but no one else.

"Ah," Carson said, understanding the motion, "Ronon will be fine. His ability to heal is almost unnatural. He sustained two solid hits to the head that rendered him unconscious, and yet, I swear, you'd think someone just knocked him about a bit. He's been awake more than you. Teyla and Elizabeth, meanwhile, are both already gone. Teyla's tougher than old shoe leather—she's probably already down in the gymnasium working out the kinks with the physical therapist. Elizabeth broke her arm, pulled some muscles, scratched up her leg something nasty and was exhausted, but other than that, she's pretty much fine. She's sleeping in her own bed at the moment. You…you cracked your head, got a bullet wound in your shoulder, and destroyed your knee. Needless to say, you stayed with us a little longer." The smile was back.

But it really wasn't working.

And Carson knew that it wasn't working. He knew what Sheppard really wanted to know.

The doctor looked down, then up again.

"Yes, I was arguing with Dr. Biro about Rodney," he said, to the real question in John's eyes. Sheppard opened his mouth to comment, but Carson forestalled him with a raised hand. "He's alive, Colonel. The argument you heard was about his leg. When we finally got him back here, I couldn't find a pedal pulse, and we didn't know then if it was because the blood had been cut off to the limb, or just hidden because of the swelling...Biro was afraid, for all the trauma, that it was the former, and wanted to approach the surgery on that assumption. I argued it was the latter, based on hope mostly. Turned out I was right, thanks be to all." He gave a small sigh, then smiled at Sheppard again. "Yes, the blood loss was severe. Besides losing consciousness, a number of his lower organs had stopped functioning. We were lucky to find him when we did...we were able to get his kidneys and the rest going again, and I don't think there will be any permanent damage..." He pursed his lips, eyes taking in a faraway quality. "Aye," he muttered almost to himself, "lucky..."

"So," Sheppard blinked a little, not sure he really followed all that, "he's going to be okay?"

Beckett looked up again, focusing on Sheppard again, and he nodded slowly. "Yes. Now. Fact is...he should have been dead, Colonel, with the wound he had and the blood he lost. All I can tell you is that, whatever you put on it to clean it, worked. It slowed the bleeding down and stimulated healing. Still, he had to have been running on fumes for most of the time he was awake. I spoke to that trader of yours briefly, and he told me Rodney was awake for most of the night, working to get that truck running…."

That caused a moment's confusion. "Truck? What truck?"

"Connam's, of course." Carson looked at him, then shrugged, "Or, at least, that's what he called it. Looked like a traveller's wagon to me when I went to the Alpha Site to meet him."

"The wagon…" Sheppard looked down, absorbing that information dumbly, "was a truck?"

Beckett chuckled, "Didn't know that, eh?"

"No," Sheppard breathed. "Would've been nice to know though."

Beckett shrugged a little at that. "Yes, well, anyway," he shook his head, "Rodney near wore himself to death, just as he's done on so many occasions. I need to talk to him about that…." Carson looked away, in a different direction, and Sheppard followed his line of sight. There was a curtained area on the far side of the infirmary. "I think he survives on pure anger alone, sometimes." He gave a small smile at that. "Though, to be fair, can't really fault him for it here. After all, his actions got us to the rest of you in time..." Beckett's eyes softened as he continued his study of the curtained area.

"He's back there?" the colonel asked quietly, glancing at Beckett.

Beckett nodded, "He's resting. Biro fixed his leg, and though it was awfully dodgy there for a bit..." He frowned a little, then, slowly, his face muscles relaxed and he looked back again at Sheppard with a smile. "Anyway, he's stable now. Probably wake up soon. Been sleeping for near on a day now, like you."

Sheppard just nodded, turning his head to fix once more on the area where he knew Rodney was.

Carson placed a hand on his shoulder, "Just rest, Colonel. I promise, you'll be the first to see him when he's truly awake."

Sheppard's eyes squinted at that.

Because he wasn't sure Rodney would want him to be there.

————————————————————————

**To Be Concluded tomorrow**... _(I know, hard to believe eh?) Thank you all for sticking with me! And to Heather, thank you for the advice!_


	28. Chapter 28

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: A SOUND BARGAIN**

——————————————————————

"Hello, Connam," Sheppard called, riding into the white tent world of the Alpha Site on the transport. Sitting there with his feet propped up on a chair, noshing away on what looked like a muffin and watching Simpson working on his engine, Connam turned in his seat and grinned.

"Colonel!" he shouted, bouncing up onto his feet and waving. "How wonderful to see you! I admit, though I knew you were safe and sound, well..." he looked at the crutch Sheppard was placing on the ground to get himself up off the transport's seat, and the sling protecting the left shoulder, "safe, anyway...I'm still glad to actually see it for myself."

Sheppard smiled, pushing himself off the seat and limping over to Connam on the crutch, then taking the fold up chair that Connam had been resting his feet on. Connam took the cue and sat opposite him. Sheppard turned, looking over at Simpson, who was now leaning deeply into the engine, one of her feet off the ground.

"How's it going?" he asked. "They getting it fixed?"

"Oh, yes. She's a wonder, that woman." Connam leaned forward. "And lovely too," he said more quietly. "Do you know if she's attached to anyone?"

Sheppard ducked his head and smiled, shaking his head. Just at that moment, Doctor Simpson let out a stream of invectives and pulled her head out of the engine, her blond hair sticking up at odd angles and a massive black smudge running from nose to halfway across one cheek.

"I hate this thing!" she yelled. She turned her head to look vaguely towards the tent site. "Carver! I need that pipe! What's taking so long!"

"It's coming!" an annoyed sounding male voice shouted back. "Hold your horses!"

"I'll show you, holding my horses!" she yelled back. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw she had company. Suddenly she turned the whole way, smiling over at Sheppard. "Colonel," she greeted, her tone changing dramatically, "I apologize. I didn't hear you come in. How are you?"

He grinned back, "Fine, Doc. And you?"

"Well, well." She looked distractedly down at the engine she was working on, then back at Sheppard. "And how is," she seemed almost nervous, "Doctor McKay?" Her tone got even softer. She was worried.

Sheppard's shoulders slumped a little, but he nodded, trying to keep up the pretence of confidence. "Beckett says he'll be fine. He's woken up a few times, but hasn't really _woken_ up yet, if you get my meaning."

She nodded; she did. "I hope he gets better," she said, and there was no question that she meant it. She looked back again at the engine, and frowned. Her head tipped towards the tents again, "Carver! Pipe! Now!" she bellowed. A second later a large man with an impressively long, brown beard came chugging out of the tents, hefting a small piece of pipe in a pair of tongs. She smiled sweetly at him, then pointed into the engine. "About time," she chastised. The bearded scientist shook his head and immediately got to work.

Connam sighed happily, "See what I mean?" he said to Sheppard. "Lovely woman."

Sheppard held back a laugh, looking over at Connam again, seeing the lovesick look on the man's face. He had it bad.

Connam saw him looking, and his face transformed back into it's usual ambiguously charming expression. "So," he asked the colonel, "while I appreciate the visit, Colonel, I will say that I was not necessarily expecting to see you again. I thought our transaction was at an end?"

Sheppard nodded. "Yes, well," he shrugged, "I guess...I wanted to, um...," he met Connam's eyes, "I wanted to know what happened, Connam, after I left. As I told the doc, there, McKay hasn't really woken up yet, and so I wanted to see if I could get the story from you."

"Ah," Connam nodded, "Sure." He leaned back in his chair. "Well, I took him back to my shack, as we had agreed. Then, a few hours after I got him there, he woke up, agitated and worried, terribly worried," Connam's eyes squinted a little, "about you and your friends. He wanted to find a way to help you, so," he shrugged, "he quickly came up with the idea of my taking a message through to your people, and, in return, he'd fix my wagon's engine." He gestured vaguely at Simpson again, who was working with a welding tool now, "it was a sound bargain." He looked back at Sheppard, and his head tilted a little. "I will admit," he said, his tone a little apologetic, "that I underestimated your Doctor McKay, Colonel. Based both on what I saw that night, and the impression I've gotten from the people here, he's more than he seems."

Sheppard just nodded, no longer looking at Connam. He seemed focused on flexing his left hand in the sling instead, wanting it to work well again. "Out of curiosity," the colonel asked after a moment, "would you have taken a message through based on the things we gave you the first time we met?"

Connam nodded, "Absolutely. Delivering a message is a simple task—I would almost have been taking advantage of you if we had struck that bargain then. It would have been easier to do so before your rescue of your friends was announced to the valley, see. I had a few moments of worry when I finally reached the Gate, I can tell you." He smiled suddenly, brightly, "but it all worked out."

"Yes," Sheppard said noncommittally, still not looking up. Connam watched him for a moment, then his eyes softened.

"Look, Colonel," the trader said, leaning forward a little on his chair, "Just because you did not think of it then is not your fault. You were concerned about your people at the Citadel. Your attention was focused on getting them out. It is understandable. Plus, you didn't know if you could trust me, then."

"I trusted you with McKay," Sheppard replied, looking towards Simpson, who was now leaning so far into the engine she had both feet off the ground.

"Oh," Connam nodded, "true. Still, you had a great deal you were trying to do by yourself...That's not an easy position to be in."

Sheppard's eyes squinted a little at that, but he still didn't look at the other man, returning once more to looking down at his left hand. He was clearly thinking about how things might have been. Connam pursed his lips, glanced over at Simpson again, then back at the colonel.

"You know," he offered, leaning fully forward on his knees, "Doctor McKay thinks the world of you, Colonel." Sheppard's eyes flashed up to him at that, surprise in them. Connam nodded, "When he first woke up, he was disoriented, but he accepted almost without question that you had gone off to help the others. His only unhappiness was that you hadn't asked him to help. Then he recalled the way he had been acting before you left, and he was obviously ashamed. That's when he seemed to," Connam rolled a hand around, "start thinking. He wanted to make it up to you, to save you and make you proud of him." He smiled, "And so he came up with the idea of a message. And when, a couple of times, he seemed like he was going to give up working on my wagon, it just took the mention of your name to galvanize him into action again." Connam smiled brightly. "And you would have been proud of him, I think."

Sheppard's brow furrowed, not sure what to make of that.

"So," Connam shrugged again, "I guess, I'm wondering...why are you still here?" He tilted his head, "And not back there." Connam leaned back again on his chair, "He called you his best friend, Colonel." The trader's eyes narrowed, "Are you?"

Sheppard stared at him a little longer, then, slowly, the tiniest smile crept across his face.

"Thanks, Connam," he said, reaching for the crutch and pushing himself to his feet again. "For everything."

Connam waved a hand dismissively, then grinned again at Sheppard. "Like I said, Colonel. It was a sound bargain."

——————————————————————

_Just one more.._..


	29. Chapter 29

_The last one..._

**FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

**CHAPTER THIRTY: THE COOLER KINGS**

—————————————————————

Sheppard sat in the chair next to McKay's bed, playing solitaire on the man's laptop. Apparently, McKay had woken a few more times while Sheppard was out, and one of those times he had asked for his laptop. Then McKay had fallen asleep with it still on. Sheppard had commandeered it to keep him occupied during his vigil, and quickly found the computer games McKay had loaded on it.

His fingers hovered over the mouse, trying to spot any cards he missed.

"Red nine," McKay said softly next to him, "Black ten."

Sheppard looked over at him, saw the tired blue eyes watching him, grinned, and then turned back to the game. Moving the red nine as commanded, he then quickly paused the game and put the laptop down. Swiveling in the chair, he patted McKay's arm.

"Hey," he greeted, "Feeling better?"

McKay gave him a slightly exasperated look. "No. I nearly died. I feel terrible."

"Yes, well," Sheppard leaned forward, resting his good arm on the bed, "I know the feeling. Had a bit of an accident with the speedwheel."

McKay's eyebrows shot up. "It's broken?"

"Yeah, actually," Sheppard tilted his head, "I'm hoping you can fix it, when you're feeling more yourself."

McKay stared at him a moment, then smiled. "Be happy too. Maybe even make a few modifications..." his eyes glossed over a little, considering the possibilities.

Sheppard smiled at that, and looked down. Slowly, his smile fell, and he blew out a deep breath. Right, he thought to himself, time to...

"Colonel," McKay said, interrupting Sheppard's thoughts and drawing the colonel's attention up again. McKay was giving him an odd look. "I just...I'm sorry," he said, "about what happened."

Sheppard immediately sat up straight, ignoring the pain the motion caused in his hurt shoulder, and turned a furious glare on the scientist. "Will you stop that!" he snapped angrily.

McKay frowned a little, confused by the mood change. "Wh...what?"

"That's the third time you've apologized to me, and I don't know what you're apologizing for!" The colonel tried to cross his arms, but couldn't with the left one in a sling. He settled for placing his other one over it. "I don't want to hear that word from your mouth again, McKay, until you do something that really needs apologizing for, you hear me? It doesn't sound right coming from your lips—it's like, like," Sheppard gestured with his good hand, "like hearing Teyla say 'cowabunga.' It's not normal!"

McKay blinked at the onslaught, then looked down. He opened his mouth again, then closed it. Finally, he shrugged, "okay."

Sheppard watched him for a moment, then leaned on the bed again, "Besides," he said, his tone changing dramatically, "I should be apologizing to you."

McKay's eyes widened, and he stared at Sheppard. "To me? Why? For what?"

"For not," the colonel's eyes narrowed slightly, "for not talking about it with you, for not asking for your help." He grimaced a little, "we might've come up with a better plan together."

McKay stared at him for a moment, then looked away at the wall opposite. "But that's just it," the scientist whispered. "You shouldn't have to ask."

Sheppard looked down again, understanding now what McKay was apologizing for.

Suddenly, McKay snorted a laugh, and when Sheppard glanced at him, he found the scientist shaking his head at something.

"Seems to me, what we've got here," McKay offered the colonel a small smile, "is a failure to communicate."

Sheppard stared at him for a moment, then smiled as well. After a moment, he was chuckling.

"Weir told you about my Paul Newman impression."

"Yeah," McKay said, still smiling.

Sheppard nodded again, looking down at his arm resting on the bed.

McKay's mirth faded, until both men were just staring at nothing, considering everything that had happened and why. The silence began to grow uncomfortable.

"We, uh," Sheppard frowned a little, looking up, "we need to fix this."

McKay just nodded. "I know."

Sheppard watched him for a moment, then asked, "Think we can?"

McKay gave a small smile. "If we really want to try," he glanced askance at Sheppard, "I think we can do anything."

Sheppard smiled at that, imitating the same look on his friend's face. "Okay then."

They spent another couple of seconds in silence, before Sheppard pushed himself away from the bed, as if preparing to stand up. "Well, I should probably—"

"Hey, Doctor McKay!" a young, cheerful voice called, the owner bounding over to the end of the bed. Young corporal Dunne grinned at the doc, then saluted the colonel. "Colonel Sheppard, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were here. I didn't mean to interrupt..."

Sheppard acknowledged the salute, settling back down again. "No problem, Dunne. What can we do for you?"

"Oh, actually," he held out his left hand, on which rested a baseball, "Doctor McKay asked me to bring him this."

McKay grinned and held his hand out. Dunne tossed him the baseball, and McKay caught it with both hands, bobbling it a little before it settled. He smiled up at Dunne again.

"Thanks, corporal," he said.

"No problem," Dunne said, waving dismissively. "I have a few." And then he grinned once more at him, "You know, we were thinking of setting up some teams, maybe playing out on the east pier. If you play, you want to join us?"

McKay looked a little surprised at that, then shook his head, ducking it a little, "Ah, no, I'm terrible. Not really my sport. But, maybe..."

"Well, let me know. You can send me another email, and I'll add you to a roster." He smiled once more at the doctor, then nodded at the colonel. "Colonel, Doc, see you later." And with that, the whirlwind of energy that was young corporal Dunne disappeared out of the infirmary.

Sheppard stared after him a moment, then turned a fully puzzled look at McKay. The scientist was rolling the baseball back and forth between his hands, looking very happy about something.

"Baseball?" Sheppard finally said, incredulous. "I thought you liked hockey?"

McKay shrugged, "Sure. But don't forget," McKay glanced up, "I spent several years in Boston, Colonel, Dunne's home town. Sort of hard to avoid baseball in that town. Did you hear the Red Sox won the World Series?"

Sheppard laughed, and nodded, "I heard Dunne nearly had a heart attack when he found out. He and the other folks around here from that area were on cloud nine for days. Called it a miracle. They commandeered the DVD player to watch the playoffs and the series for almost three days. Johnson, the big corporal from New York...?" McKay nodded, knowing the man, and Sheppard continued, "I heard he nearly cried when he saw what happened to the Yankees, then probably would have pile-drived Dunne into the ground if Sergeant Wilmington hadn't intervened." He laughed, and McKay grinned again.

"Well," McKay said, focusing back on the ball in his hands, "86 years is a long time to wait."

"Yeah," Sheppard said, "But they finally did it."

McKay nodded, then held the ball out to Sheppard, "This is for you."

The colonel stared at it a moment, then blinked, "Oh, uh...McKay, you know baseball's not my game either. Football is my—"

"Doesn't matter," McKay said hurriedly. "I just...Will you just take it?"

Sheppard stared at him a moment, then, gingerly, plucked the ball from McKay's hands. He tossed it one handed in his right hand for a moment, then looked at McKay.

The scientist was watching his hand, then looked up to meet Sheppard's eyes when he stopped.

"Be sort of fun," Sheppard said slowly, "playing baseball on the east pier, don't you think?"

"Yeah," McKay agreed, equally slowly.

"Maybe we should try it."

McKay nodded, "Maybe even get...Teyla and Ronon to play?"

"Ha," Sheppard grinned, "with the four of us on a team, we couldn't lose."

McKay grinned at that, "So, what would we call our team?"

"Well, if Dunne's on it with us, it'll probably be the Red Sox."

"Hmm," McKay agreed, "And if Johnson's on it, the Yankees."

"Yup," Sheppard screwed up his face, clearly not liking either idea.

"But I was thinking," McKay shrugged, "maybe we could call it," he glanced at Sheppard, "the Cooler Kings?"

Sheppard was staring at the ball in his hands, and, slowly, a smile grew on his face. He glanced at McKay and gave a single nod.

"Yeah," he said, "I think that'd be cool."

McKay held up his hand, and Sheppard tossed him the ball...which McKay promptly dropped. Both men looked over the other side of the bed, where the baseball was now rolling away towards a different part of the infirmary.

"First, though," Sheppard groaned, standing up to get it and reaching for his crutch, "I gotta teach you how to catch."

McKay gave him a dirty look, that morphed into a genuine smile when Sheppard hobbled away after the ball.

Yeah, the scientist thought to himself...

Cool.

—————————————————————

_THE END! _

_Hope you liked it! And yeah, I did partake in a little foreshadowing, which I'm sure you noticed. It seemed to work somehow. _:) _Thank you again so much for everything, guys! Your reviews mean the world to me. You made me very, very happy! _


End file.
